UCSB   LIBRARY 


THOMAS  CAKLYLE. 

1849. 


THOMAS  CAELTLE 


OF  THE 

FIKST  FOKTY  YEAKS  OF  HIS  LIFE 
1795-1835 


BY 

JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  M.A. 

FORMERLY  FELLOW  OF  EXETER  COLLEGE,  OXFORD 


WITH     PORTRAITS     AND     ILLUSTRATIONS 


TWO  VOLUMES  ix  oyj-: 

VOL.  I. 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1882 


PREFACE. 


MR.  CARLYLE  expressed  a  desire  in  his  will  that  of  him  no 
biography  should  be  written.  I  find  the  same  reluctance  in  hid 
Journal.  No  one,  he  said,  was  likely  to  understand  a  history, 
the  secret  of  which  was  unknown  to  his  closest  friends.  He 
hoped  that  his  wishes  would  be  respected. 

Partly  to  take  the  place  of  a  biography  of  himself,  and  part- 
ly for  other  reasons,  he  collected  the  letters  of  his  wife — letters 
which  covered  the  whole  period  of  his  life  in  London  to  the 
date  of  her  death,  when  his  own  active  work  was  finished.  He 
prepared  them  for  publication,  adding  notes  and  introductory 
explanations,  as  the  last  sacred  duty  which  remained  to  him  in 
the  world.  He  intended  it  as  a  monument  to  a  character  of 
extreme  beauty ;  while  it  would  tell  the  public  as  much  about 
himself  as  it  could  reasonably  expect  to  learn. 

These  letters  he  placed  in  my  hands  eleven  years  ago,  with 
materials  for  an  Introduction  which  he  was  himself  unable  to 
complete.  He  could  do  no  more  with  it,  he  said.  He  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  direct  positively  the  publication  even 
of  the  letters  themselves.  He  wished  them  to  be  published, 
but  he  left  the  decision  to  myself;  and  when  I  was  reluctant 
to  undertake  the  sole  responsibility,  he  said  that,  if  I  was  in 
doubt  when  the  time  came,  I  might  consult  his  brother  John 
and  his  friend  Mr.  Forster. 

Had  he  rested  here,  my  duty  would  have  been  clear.  The 
collection  of  letters,  with  the  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Carlyle  which 
was  to  form  part  of  the  Introduction,  would  have  been  consid- 
ered among  us,  and  would  have  been  either  published  or  sup- 
pressed, as  we  might  jointly  determine.  Mr.  Carlyle's  remain- 
ing papers  would  have  been  sealed  up  after  his  death,  and  by 
me  at  least  no  use  would  have  been  made  of  them. 

Two  years  later,  however,  soon  after  he  had  made  his  will, 
Carlyle  discovered  that,  whether  he  wished  it  or  not,  a  life,  or 
perhaps  various  lives,  of  himself  would  certainly  appear  when 


Ti  PREFACE. 

he  was  gone.  When  a  man  has  exercised  a  large  influence  on 
the  minds  of  his  contemporaries,  the  world  requires  to  know 
whether  his  own  actions  have  corresponded  with  his  teaching, 
and  whether  his  moral  and  personal  character  entitles  him  to 
confidence.  This-  is  not  idle  curiosity ;  it  is  a  legitimate  de- 
mand. In  proportion  to  a  man's  greatness  is  the  scrutiny  to 
which  his  conduct  is  submitted.  Byron,  Burns,  Scott,  Shelley, 
Rousseau,  Voltaire,  Goethe,  Pope,  Swift,  are  but  instances,  to 
which  a  hundred  others  might  be  added,  showing  that  the  pub- 
lic will  not  be  satisfied  without  sifting  the  history  of  its  men 
of  genius  to  the  last  grain  of  fact  which  can  be  ascertained 
about  them.  The  publicity  of  their  private  lives  has  been,  is, 
and  will  be,  either  the  reward  or  the  penalty  of  their  intellect- 
ual distinction.  Carlyle  knew  that  he  could  not  escape.  Since 
a  "  Life  "  of  him  there  would  certainly  be,  he  wished  it  to  be  as 
authentic  as  possible.  Besides  the  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Carlyle,  he 
had  written  several  others,  mainly  autobiographical,  not  dis- 
tinctly to  be  printed,  but  with  no  fixed  purpose  that  they 
should  not  be  printed.  These,  with  his  journals  and  the  whole 
of  his  correspondence,  he  made  over  to  me,  with  unfettered 
discretion  to  use  in  any  way  that  I  might  think  good. 

In  the  papers  thus  in  my  possession,  Carlyle's  history,  ex- 
ternal and  spiritual,  lay  out  before  me  as  in  a  map.  By  re- 
casting the  entire  material,  by  selecting  chosen  passages  out 
of  his  own  and  his  wife's  letters,  by  exhibiting  the  fair  and 
beautiful  side  of  the  story  only,  it  would  have  been  easy,  with- 
out suppressing  a  single  material  point,  to  draw  a  picture  of  a 
faultless  character.  When  the  devil's  advocate  has  said  his 
worst  against  Carlyle,  he  leaves  a  figure  still  of  unblemished 
integrity,  purity,  loftiness  of  purpose,  and  inflexible  resolution 
to  do  right,  as  of  a  man  living  consciously  tinder  his  Maker's 
eye,  and  with  his  thoughts  fixed  on  the  account  which  he  would 
have  to  render  of  his  talents. 

Of  a  person  of  whom  malice  must  acknowledge  so  much  as 
this,  the  prickly  aspects  might  fairly  be  passed  by  in  silence ; 
and  if  I  had  studied  my  own  comfort  or  the  pleasure  of  my 
immediate  readers,  I  should  have  produced  a  portrait  as  agree- 
able, and  at  least  as  faithful,  as  those  of  the  favored  saints  in 
the  Catholic  calendar.  But  it  would  have  been  a  portrait  with- 
out individuality — an  ideal,  or,  in  other  words,  an  "idol,"  to 
be  worshipped  one  day  and  thrown  away  the  next.  Least  of 
all  men  could  such  idealizing  be  ventured  with  Carlyle,  to 


PREFACE.  vii 

•whom  untruth  of  any  kind  was  abominable.  If  he  was  to  be 
known  at  all,  he  chose  to  be  known  as  he  was,  with  his  angu- 
larities, his  sharp  speeches,  his  special  peculiarities,  meritorious 
or  unmeritorious,  precisely  as  they  had  actually  been.  He  has 
himself  laid  down  the  conditions  under  which  a  biographer 
must  do  his  work  if  he  would  do  it  honestly,  without  the  fear 
of  man  before  him ;  and  in  dealing  with  Carlyle's  own  mem- 
ory I  have  felt  myself  bound  to  conform  to  his  own  rule.  He 
shall  speak  for  himself.  I  extract  a  passage  from  his  review 
of  Lockhart's  "Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.'" 

"  One  thing  we  hear  greatly  blamed  in  Mr.  Lockhart,  that 
he  has  been  too  communicative,  indiscreet,  and  has  recorded 
much  that  ought  to  have  lain  suppressed.  Persons  are  men- 
tioned, and  circumstances  not  always  of  an  ornamental  sort. 
It  would  appear  that  there  is  far  less  reticence  than  was  looked 
for !  Various  persons,  name  and  surname,  have  '  received  pain.' 
Nay,  the  very  hero  of  the  biography  is  rendered  unheroic ; 
unornamental  facts  of  him,  and  of  those  he  had  to  do  with, 
being  set  forth  in  plain  English :  hence  '  personality,'  '  indis- 
cretion,' or  worse  '  sanctities  of  private  life,'  etc.  How  deli- 
cate, decent,  is  English  biography,  bless  its  mealy  mouth !  A 
Damocles'  sword  of  Respectability  hangs  forever  over  the  poor 
English  life-writer  (as  it  does  over  poor  English  life  in  general), 
and  reduces  him  to  the  verge  of  paralysis.  Thus  it  has  been 
said,  '  There  are  no  English  lives  worth  reading,  except  those 
of  players,  who,  \>y  the  nature  of  the  case,  have  bidden  re- 
spectability good-day.'  The  English  biographer  has  long  felt 
that  if  in  writing  his  biography  he  wrote  down  anything  that 
could  by  possibility  offend  any  man,  he  had  written  wrong. 
The  plain  consequence  was  that,  properly  speaking,  no  biog- 
raphy whatever  could  be  produced.  The  poor  biographer, 
having  the  fear  not  of  God  before  his  eyes,  was  obliged  to  re- 
tire as  it  were  into  vacuum,  and  write  in  the  most  melancholy 
straitened  manner,  with  only  vacuum  for  a  result.  Vain  that 
he  wrote,  and  that  we  kept  reading  volume  on  volume.  There 
was  no  biography,  but  some  vague  ghost  of  a  biography,  white, 
stainless,  without  feature  or  substance ;  vacuum  as  we  say,  and 
wind  and  shadow.  ...  Of  all  the  praises  copiously  bestowed  on 
Mr.  Lockhart's  work  there  is  none  in  reality  so  creditable  to 
him  as  this  same  censure  which  has  also  been  pretty  copious. 

»  "Miscellanies,"  vol.  v.  p.  221  sqq. 


viii  PREFACE. 

It  is  a  censure  better  than  a  good  many  praises.  He  is  found 
guilty  of  having  said  this  and  that,  calculated  not  to  be  entire- 
ly pleasant  to  this  man  and  that ;  in  other  words,  calculated  to 
give  him  and  the  thing  he  worked  in  a  living  set  of  features, 
not  to  leave  him  vague  in  the  white  beatified  ghost  condition. 
Several  men,  as  we  hear,  cry  out,  'See,  there  is  something 
written  not  entirely  pleasant  to  me !'  Good  friend,  it  is  pity ; 
but  who  can  help  it?  They  that  will  crowd  about  bonfires 
may  sometimes  very  fairly  get  their  beards  singed ;  it  is  the 
price  they  pay  for  such  illumination  ;  natural  twilight  is  safe 
and  free  to  all.  For  our  part  we  hope  all  manner  of  biogra- 
phies that  are  written  in  England  will  henceforth  be  written 
so.  If  it  is  fit  that  they  be  written  otherwise,  then  it  is  still 
fitter  that  they  be  not  written  at  all.  To  produce  not  things, 
but  the  ghosts  of  things,  can  never  be  the  duty  of  man.  .  .  . 
The  biographer  has  this  problem  set  before  him :  to  delineate 
a  likeness  of  the  earthly  pilgrimage  of  a  man.  He  will  com- 
pute well  what  profit  is  in  it,  and  what  disprofit ;  under  which 
latter  head  this  of  offending  any  of  his  fellow-creatures  will 
surely  not  be  forgotten.  Nay,  this  may  so  swell  the  disprofit 
side  of  his  account,  that  many  an  enterprise  of  biography  other- 
wise promising  shall  require  to  be  renounced.  But  once  taken 
up,  the  rule  before  all  rules  is  to  do  it,  not  to  do  the  ghost  of  it. 
In  speaking  of  the  man  and  men  he  has  to  do  with,  he  will  of 
course  keep  all  his  charities  about  him,  but  all  bis  eyes  open. 
Far  be  it  from  him  to  set  down  aught  untrue;  nay,  not  to  ab- 
stain from,  and  leave  in  oblivion,  much  that  is  true.  But 
having  found  a  thing  or  things  essential  for  his  subject,  and 
well  computed  the  for  and  against,  he  will  in  very  deed  set 
down  such  thing  or  things,  nothing  doubting,  having,  we  may 
say,  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes,  and  no  other  fear  what- 
ever. Censure  the  biographer's  prudence;  dissent  from  the 
computation  he  made,  or  agree  with  it;  be  all  malice  of  his, 
be  all  falsehood,  nay,  be  all  offensive  avoidable  inaccuracy  con- 
demned and  consumed;  but  know  that  by  this  plan  only,  exe- 
cuted as  was  possible,  could  the  biographer  hope  to  make  a 
biography;  and  blame  him  not  that  he  did  what  it  had  been 
the  worst  fault  not  to  do.  ...  The  other  censure  of  Scott  be- 
ing made  unheroic  springs  from  the  same  stem,  and  is  perhaps 
a  still  more  wonderful  flower  of  it  Your  true  hero  must 
have  no  features,  but  be  a  wliite,  stainless,  impersonal  ghost 
hero  !  But  connected  with  this,  there  is  an  hypothesis  now 


PREFACE.  ix 

current  that  Mr.  Lockhart  at  heart  has  a  dislike  to  Scott, 
and  has  done  his  best  in  an  underhand  treacherous  manner 
to  dis-hero  him !  Such  hypothesis  is  actually  current.  He 
that  has  ears  may  hear  it  now  and  then — on  which  astounding 
hypothesis  if  a  word  must  be  said,  it  can  only  be  an  apology 
for  silence.  If  Mr.  Lockhart  is  fairly  chargeable  with  any  rad- 
ical defect,  if  on  any  side  his  insight  entirely  fails  him,  it  seems 
even  to  be  in  this,  that  Scott  is  altogether  lovely  to  him,  that 
Scott's  greatness  spreads  out  before  him  on  all  hands  beyond 
reach  of  eye,  that  his  very  faults  become  beautiful,  and  that  of 
his  worth  there  is  no  measure." 

I  will  make  no  comment  on  this  passage  farther  than  to  say 
that  I  have  considered  the  principles  here  laid  down  by  Car- 
lyle  to  be  strictly  obligatory  upon  myself  in  dealing  with  his 
own  remains.  The  free  judgments  which  he  passed  on  men 
and  things  were  part  of  himself,  and  I  have  not  felt  myself  at 
liberty  to  suppress  them.  Remarks  which  could  injure  any 
man — and  very  few  such  ever  fell  from  Carlyle's  lips — I  omit, 
except  where  indispensable.  Remarks  which  are  merely  legit- 
imate expressions  of  opinion  I  leave  for  the  most  part  as  they 
stand.  As  an  illustration  of  his  own  wishes  on  this  subject,  I 
may  mention  that  I  consulted  him  about  a  passage  in  one  of 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  letters  describing  an  eminent  living  person.  Her 
judgment  was  more  just  than  flattering,  and  I  doubted  the 
prudence  of  printing  it.  Carlyle  merely  said,  "  It  will  do  him 
no  harm  to  know  what  a  sensible  woman  thought  of  him." 

As  to  the  biography  generally,  I  found  that  I  could  not  my- 
self write  a  formal  Life  of  Carlyle  within  measurable  compass 
without  taking  to  pieces  his  own  Memoirs  and  the  collection 
of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  letters ;  and  this  I  could  not  think  it  right  to 
attempt.  Mr.  Forster  and  John  Carlyle  having  both  died,  the 
responsibility  was  left  entirely  to  myself.  A  few  weeks  before 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  death,  he  asked  me  what  I  meant  to  do.  I  told 
him  that  I  proposed  to  publish  the  Memoirs  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone — those  which  form  the  two  volumes  of  the  "Reminis- 
cences." Afterwards  I  said  that  I  would  publish  the  letters 
about  which  I  knew  him  to  be  most  anxious.  He  gave  his  full 
assent,  merely  adding  that  he  trusted  everything  to  me.  The 
Memoirs,  he  thought,  had  better  appear  immediately  on  his  de- 
parture. He  expected  that  people  would  then  be  talking  about 
him,  and  that  it  would  be  well  for  them  to  have  something 
authentic  to  guide  them. 


x  PREFACE. 

These  points  being  determined,  'the  remainder  of  my  task 
became  simplified.  Mrs.  Carlyle's  letters  are  a  better  history 
of  the  London  life  of  herself  and  her  husband  than  could  be 
•written  either  by  me  or  by  any  one.  The  connecting  narrative 
is  Carlyle's  own,  and  to  meddle  with  his  work  would  be  to 
spoil  it.  It  was  thus  left  to  me  to  supply  an  account  of  his 
early  life  in  Scotland,  the  greater  part  of  which  I  had  written 
while  he  was  alive,  and  which  is  contained  in  the  present  vol- 
umes. The  publication  of  the  letters  will  follow  at  no  dis- 
tant period.  Afterwards,  if  I  live  to  do  it,  I  shall  add  a  brief 
account  of  his  last  years,  when  I  was  in  constant  intercourse 
with  him. 

It  may  be  said  that  I  shall  have  thus  produced  no  "  Life," 
but  only  the  materials  for  a  "  Life."  That  is  true.  But  I  be- 
lieve that  I  shall  have  given,  notwithstanding,  a  real  picture  as 
far  as  it  goes ;  and  an  adequate  estimate  of  Carlyle's  work  in 
this  world  is  not  at  present  possible.  He  was  a  teacher  and  a 
prophet  in  the  Jewish  sense  of  the  word.  The  prophecies  of 
Isaiah  and  Jeremiah  have  become  a  part  of  the  permanent 
spiritual  inheritance  of  mankind,  because  events  proved  that 
they  had  interpreted  correctly  the  signs  of  their  own  times, 
and  their  prophecies  were  fulfilled.  Carlyle,  like  them,  be- 
lieved that  he  had  a  special  message  to  deliver  to  the  present 
age.  Whether  he  was  correct  in  that  belief,  and  whether  his 
message  was  a  true  message,  remains  to  be  seen.  He  has  told 
us  that  our  most  cherished  ideas  of  political  liberty,  with  their 
kindred  corollaries,  are  mere  illusions,  and  that  the  progress 
which  has  seemed  to  go  along  with  them  is  a  progress  towards 
anarchy  and  social  dissolution.  If  he  was  wrong,  he  has  mis- 
used his  powers.  The  principles  of  his  teaching  are  false. 
He  has  offered  himself  as  a  guide  upon  a  road  of  which  he 
had  no  knowledge ;  and  his  own  desire  for  himself  would  be 
the  speediest  oblivion  both  of  his  person  and  his  works.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  has  been  right ;  if,  like  his  great  prede- 
cessors, he  has  read  truly  the  tendencies  of  this  modern  age 
of  ours,  and  his  teaching  is  authenticated  by  facts,  then  Car- 
lyle, too,  will  take  his  place  among  the  inspired  seers,  and  he 
will  shine  on,  another  fixed  star  in  the  intellectual  sky. 

Time  only  can  show  how  this  will  be : 
afiipai  tTTiXotTroi  fidprvpts 


CONTENTS 

OP 

THE   FIRST  VOLUME. 


CHAP. 
I. 


II.  A.D.  1805.  JET.  10 8 

III.  A.D.  1814.  ^ET.  19 19 

IV.  A.D.  1817.  uET.  22 24 

V.  A.D.  1818.  ^ET.  23 30 

VI.  A.D.  1819.  ^Ex.  24 40 

VII.  A.D.  1820.  ^ET.  25 51 

VIII.  A.D.  1821.  ^Ex.  26 61 

IX.  A.D.  1822.  .Ex.  27 80 

X.  A.D.  1822.  ^Ex.  27 86 

XI.  A.D.  1823.  ^ET.  28 102 

XII.  A.D.  1823.  JE.T.  28 112 

XIII.  A.D.  1824.  ^ET.  29 124 

XIV.  A.D.  1824.  ^Er.  29 133 

XV.  A.D.  1824.  ^ET.  29 146 

XVI.  A.D.  1825.  ^Er.  30 156 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAG1I 

XVII.  A.D.  1825.     JET.  30 169 

XVIII.  A.D.  1825.     JET.  30 182 

XIX.  A.D.  1826.     ^ET.  31 191 

XX.  A.D.  1826.     JET.  31    ...     .'N 214 

XXI.  A.D.  1827.    ^Ex.  32 228 

XXII.  A.D.  1827.  JET.  32   .                                                    .  242 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE,  A.D.  1849 Frontispiece 

ECCLEFECHAN To  face  page    1 

MAINHILL "    "      "19 

SCOTSBRIO    ...  "    "      "    191 


LIFE 

OP 

THOMAS    CARLYLE. 


CHAPTER  I.  ^ 

THE  river  Annan,  rising  above  Moffat  in  Hartfell,  descends  from 
the  mountains  through  a  valley,  gradually  widening  and  spreading 
out,  as  the  fells  are  left  behind,  into  the  rich  and  well-cultivated 
district  known  as  Annandale.  Picturesque  and  broken  in  the  up- 
per part  of  its  course,  the  stream,  when  it  reaches  the  level  country, 
steals  slowly  among  meadows  and  undulating  wooded  hills,  till  at 
the  end  of  forty  miles  it  falls  into  the  Solway  at  Annan  town.  An- 
nandale, famous  always  for  its  pasturage,  suffered  especially  be- 
fore the  union  of  the  kingdoms  from  border  forays,  the  effects  of 
which  were  long  to  be  traced  in  a  certain  wildness  of  disposition 
in  the  inhabitants.  Dumfriesshire,  to  which  it  belongs,  was  sternly 
Cameronian.  Stories  of  the  persecutions  survived  in  the  farm- 
houses as  their  most  treasured  historical  traditions.  Cameronian 
congregations  lingered  till  the  beginning  of  the  present  century, 
when  they  merged  in  other  bodies  of  seceders  from  the  established 
religion. 

In  its  hard  fight  for  spiritual  freedom  Scotch  Protestantism  lost 
respect  for  kings  and  nobles,  and  looked  to  Christ  rather  than  to 
earthly  rulers  ;  but  before  the  Reformation  all  Scotland  was  clan- 
nish or  feudal ;  and  the  Dumfriesshire  yeomanry,  like  the  rest,  were 
organized  under  great  noble  families,  whose  pennon  they  followed, 
whose  name  they  bore,  and  the  remotest  kindred  with  which,  even 
to  a  tenth  generation,  they  were  proud  to  claim.  Among  the  fami- 
lies of  the  western  border  the  Carlyles  were  not  the  least  distinguish- 
ed. They  were  originally  English,  and  were  called  probably  after  Car- 
lisle town.  They  came  to  Annandale  with  the  Bruces  in  the  time  of 
David  the  Second.  A  Sir  John  Carlyle  was  created  Lord  Carlyle  of 
Torthorwald  in  reward  for  a  beating  which  he  had  given  the  Eng- 
lish at  Annan.  Michael,  the  fourth  lord,  signed  the  Association 
Bond  among  the  Protestant  lords  when  Queen  Mary  was  sent  to 
Lochleven,  being  the  only  one  among  them,  it  was  observed,  who 


2  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

could  not  write  his  name.  Their  work  was  rough.  They  were 
rough  men  themselves,  and  with  the  change  of  times  their  impor- 
tance declined.  The  title  lapsed,  the  estates  were  dissipated  in  law- 
suits, and  by  the  middle  of  the  last  century  nothing  remained  of  the 
Carlyles  but  one  or  two  households  in  the  neighborhood  of  Burns- 
wark,  who  had  inherited  the  name  either  through  the  adoption  by 
their  forefathers  of  the  name  of  their  leader,  or  by  some  descent  of 
blood  which  had  trickled  down  through  younger  sons. ' 

In  one  of  these  families,  in  a  house  which  his  father,  who  was  a 
mason,  had  built  with  his  own  hands,  Thomas  Carlyle  was  born  on 
December  4, 1795.  Ecclefechan,  where  his  father  lived,  is  a  small 
market  town  on  the  east  side  of  Annandale,  six  miles  inland  from 
the  Sol  way,  and  about  sixteen  on  the  great  north  road  from  Carlisle.'3 
It  consists  of  a  single  street,  down  one  side  of  which,  at  that  time, 
ran  an  open  brook.  The  aspect,  like  that  of  most  Scotch  towns,  is 
cold,  but  clean  and  orderly,  with  an  air  of  thrifty  comfort.  The 
houses  are  plain,  that  in  which  the  Carlyles  lived  alone  having  pre- 
tensions to  originality.  In  appearance  one,  it  is  really  double,  a  cen- 
tral arch  dividing  it.  James  Carlyle,  Thomas  Carlyle's  father,  occu- 
pied one  part.  His  brother,  who  was  his  partner  in  his  trade,  lived 
in  the  other. 

Of  their  ancestors  they  knew  nothing  beyond  the  second  genera- 
tion. Tradition  said  that  they  had  been  long  settled  as  farmers  at 
Burrens,  the  Roman  station  at  Middlebie  (two  miles  from  Eccle- 
fechan). One  of  them,  it  was  said,  had  been  unjustly  hanged  on 
pretext  of  border  cattle-stealing.  The  case  was  so  cruel  that  the 
farm  had  been  given  as  some  compensation  to  the  widow,  and  the 
family  had  continued  to  possess  it  till  their  title  was  questioned, 
and  they  were  turned  out  by  the  Duke  of  Queensberry.  Whether 
this  story  was  true  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  James  Carlyle's  grand- 
mother lived  at  Middlebie  in  extreme  poverty,  and  that  she  died 
in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  leaving  two  sons.  Thom- 
as, the  elder,  was  a  carpenter,  worked  for  some  time  at  Lancaster, 
came  home  afterwards,  and  saw  the  Highlanders  pass  through  Ec- 
clefechan in  1745  on  their  way  to  England.  Leaving  his  trade,  he 
settled  at  a  small  farm  called  Brownknowe,  near  Burnswark  Hill, 
and,  marrying  a  certain  Mary  Gillespie,  produced  four  sons  and  two 
daughters.  Of  these  sons  James  Carlyle  was  the  second.  The  house- 

1  When  Carlyle  became  famous,  a  Dumfries  antiquary  traced  his  ancestry  with  ap- 
parent success  through  ten  generations  to  the  first  Lord  torthonvald.  There  was  mnrh 
laughter  about  it  in  the  house  in  Cheyne  Row,  but  Carlyle  was  inclined  to  think  on  the 
whole  that  the  descent  was  real. 

*  The  usually  received  etymology  of  Ecclefechan  is  that  it  is  the  same  as  Kirkfechan, 
Church  of  St.  Fechanus,  an  Irish  saint  supposed  to  have  come  to  Annandale  in  the  sev- 
enth century ;  but  Fechan  is  a  not  unusual  termination  in  Welsh,  and  means  ' '  small, " 
as  in  Llaufairfeehan. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  3 

hold  life  was  in  a  high  degree  disorderly.  Old  Thomas  Carlyle  was 
formed  after  the  border  type,  more  given  to  fighting  and  wild  ad- 
venture than  to  patient  industry.  "He  did  not  drink,"  his  grand- 
son says,  "but  he  was  a  fiery  man,  irascible,  indomitable,  of  the 
toughness  and  springiness  of  steel.  An  old  market  brawl,  called 
Ecclefechan  dog-light,  in  which  he  was  a  principal,  survives  in  tra- 
dition to  this  day."1  He  was  proud,  poor,  and  discontented,  leav- 
ing his  family  for  the  most  part  to  shift  for  themselves.  They 
were  often  without  food  or  fuel ;  his  sons  were  dressed  in  breeks 
made  mostly  of  leather. 

"They  had  to  scramble  [Carlyle  says],  scraffle  for  their  very 
clothes  and  food.  They  knit,  they  thatched  for  hire,  they  hunted. 
My  father  tried  all  these  things  almost  in  boyhood.  Eve^y  dale  and 
burngate  and  cleugh  of  that  district  he  had  traversed  seeking  hares 
and  the  like.  He  used  to  talk  of  these  pilgrimages.  Once  I  remem- 
ber his  gun-flint  was  tied  on  with  a  hatband.  He  was  a  real  hunter 
like  a  wild  Indian  from  necessity.  The  hare's  flesh  was  food.  Hare- 
skins  at  sixpence  each  would  accumulate  into  the  purchase  money 
of  a  coat.  His  hunting  years  were  not  useless  to  him.  Misery  was 
early  training  the  rugged  boy  into  a  stoic,  that  one  day  he  might  be 
the  assurancex)f  a  Scottish  man. " 

"Travelling  tinkers,"  "Highland  drovers,"  and  such  like  were 
occasional  guests  at  Brownknowe.  "  Sandy  Macleod,  a  pensioned 
soldier  who  had  served  under  Wolfe,  lived  in  an  adjoining  cottage, 
and  had  stories  to  tell  of  his  adventures."  Old  Thomas  Carlyle,  not- 
withstanding his  rough,  careless  ways,  was  not  without  cultivation. 
He  studied  "  Anson's  Voyages,"  and  in  his  old  age,  strange  to  say, 
when  his  sons  were  growing  into  young  men,  he  would  sit  with  a 
neighbor  over  the  fire,  reading,  much  to  their  scandal,  the  "Arabian 
Nights."  They  had  become,  James  Carlyle  especially,  and  his 
brother  through  him,  serious  lads,  and  they  were  shocked  to  see  two 
old  men  occupied  on  the  edge  of  the  grave  with  such  idle  vanities. 

Religion  had  been  introduced  into  the  house  through  another 
singular  figure,  John  Orr,  the  school-master  of  Hoddam,  who  was 
also  by  trade  a  shoemaker.  School-mastering  in  those  days  fell  to 
persons  of  clever,  irregular  habits,  who  took  to  it  from  taste  partly, 
and  also  because  other  forms  of  business  did  not  answer  with  them. 
Orr  was  a  man  of  strong  pious  tendencies,  but  was  given  to  drink. 
He  would  disappear  for  weeks  into  pothouses,  and  then  come  back 
to  his  friends  shattered  and  remorseful.  He,  too,  was  a  friend  and 
visitor  at  Brownknowe,  teaching  the  boys  by  day,  sleeping  in  the 
room  with  them  at  night,  and  discussing  arithmetical  problems  with 
their  father.  From  him  James  Carlyle  gained  such  knowledge  as 

1  This,  it  should  be  said,  was  written  fifty  years  ago. 


4  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

he  had,  part  of  it  a  knowledge  of  the  Bible,  which  became  the  guid- 
ing principle  of  his  life.  The  effect  was  soon  visible  on  a  remark- 
able occasion.  While  he  was  still  a  boy,  he  and  three  of  his  com- 
panions had  met  to  play  cards.  There  was  some  disagreement, 
among  them,  when  James  Carlyle  said  that  they  were  fools  and 
worse  for  quarrelling  over  a  probably  sinful  amusement.  They 
threw  the  cards  into  the  fire,  and  perhaps  no  one  of  the  four,  certain- 
ly not  James  Carlyle,  ever  touched  a  card  again.  Hitherto  he  and 
his  brother  had  gleaned  a  subsistence  on  the  skirts  of  settled  life. 
They  were  now  to  find  an  entrance  into  regular  occupation.  James 
Carlyle  was  born  in  1757.  In  1773,  when  he  was  sixteen,  a  certain 
William  Brown,  a  mason  from  Peebles,  came  into  Annandale,  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  Carlyles,  and  married  Thomas  Carlyle's 
eldest  daughter  Fanny.  He  took  her  brothers  as  apprentices,  and 
they  became  known  before  long  as  the  most  skilful  and  diligent 
workmen  in  the  neighborhood.  James,  though  not  the  eldest,  had 
the  strongest  character,  and  guided  the  rest.  "  They  were  noted  for 
their  brotherly  affection  and  coherence."  They  all  prospered.-  They 
were  noted  also  for  their  hard  sayings,  and  it  must  be  said  also,  in 
their  early  manhood,  for  "hard  strikings."  They  were  warmly 
liked  by  those  near  them  ;  "  by  those  at  a  distance  they  were  view- 
ed as  something  dangerous  to  meddle  with,  something  not  to  be 
meddled  with." 

James  Carlyle  never  spoke  with  pleasure  of  his  young  days,  re- 
garding them  "as  days  of  folly,  perhaps  sinful  days;"  but  it  was 
well  known  that  he  was  strictly  temperate,  pure,  abstemious,  prudent, 
and  industrious.  Feared  he  was  from  his  promptness  of  hand,  but 
never  aggressive,  and  using  his  strength  only  to  put  down  rudeness 
and  violence.  "On  one  occasion,"  says  Carlyle,  "a  huge  peasant 
was  rudely  insulting  and  defying  the  party  my  father  belonged  to. 
The  other  quailed,  and  he  bore  it  till  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but 
clutched  his  rough  adversary  by  the  two  flanks,  swung  him  with 
ireful  force  round  in  the  air,  hitting  his  feet  against  some  open  door, 
and  hurled  him  to  a  distance,  supine,  lamed,  vanquished,  and  utterly 
humbled.  He  would  say  of  such  things,  '  I  am  wae  to  think  of  it ' 
— wae  from  repentance.  Happy  he  who  has  nothing  worse  to  re- 
pent of !" 

The  apprenticeship  over,  the  brothers  began  work  on  their  own 
account,  and  with  marked  success  ;  James  Carlyle  taking  the  lead. 
He  built,  as  has  been  already  said,  a  house  for  himself,  which  still 
stands  in  the  street  of  Ecclefechan.  His  brothers  occupied  one  part 
of  it,  he  himself  the  other  ;  and  his  father,  the  old  Thomas,  life  now 
wearing  out,  came  in  from  Brownknowe  to  live  with  them.  James, 
perhaps  the  others,  but  James  decisively,  became  an  avowedly  re- 
ligious man.  He  had  a  maternal  uncle,  one  Robert  Brand,  whose 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  5 

advice  and  example  influenced  him  in  this  matter.  Brand  was  a 
"vigorous  religionist,"  of  strict  Presbyterian  type.  From  him 
James  Carlyle  received  a  definite  faith,  and  made  his  profession  as  a 
"Burgher,"  a  seceding  sect  which  had  separated  from  the  Establish- 
ment as  insufficiently  in  earnest  for  them.  They  had  their  humble 
meeting-house,  "thatched  with  heath;"  and  for  minister  a  certain 
John  Johnstone,  from  whom  Carlyle  himself  learned  afterwards  his 
first  Latin  ;  "the  priestliest  man,"  he  says,  "I  ever  under  any  eccle- 
siastical guise  was  privileged  to  look  upon." 

"  This  peasant  union,  this  little  heath-thatched  house,  this  simple 
evangelist,  together  constituted  properly  the  church  of  that  district; 
they  were  the  blessing  and  the  saving  of  many;  on  me  too  their  pious 
heaven-sent  influences  still  rest  and  live.  There  was  in  those  days 
a  'teacher  of  the  people.'  He  sleeps  not  far  from  my  father  who 
built  his  monument  in  the  Ecclefechan  church-yard,  the  Teacher 
and  the  Taught.  Blessed,  I  again  say,  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the 
Lord. " 

In  1791,  having  then  a  house  of  his  own,  James  Carlyle  married  a 
distant  cousin  of  the  same  name,  Janet  Carlyle.  They  had  one  son, 
John,  and  then  she  died  of  fever.  Her  long  fair  hair,  which  had 
been  cut  off  in  her  illness,  remained  as  a  memorial  of  her  in  a 
drawer,  into  which  the  children  afterwards  looked  with  wondering 
awe.  Two  years  after  the  husband  married  again  Margaret  Aitken, 
"a  woman,"  says  Carlyle,  "of  to  me  the  fairest  descent,  that  of  the 
pious,  the  just,  and  the  wise."  Her  character  will  unfold  itself  as 
the  story  goes  on.  Thomas  Carlyle  was  her  first  child,  born  Decem- 
ber 4, 1795 ;  she  lived  to  see  him  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  known, 
and  honored  wherever  the  English  language  was  spoken.  To  her 
care  "  for  body  and  soul "  he  never  ceased  to  say  that  "he  owed  end- 
less gratitude."  After  Thomas  came  eight  others,  three  sons  and 
five  daughters,  one  of  whom,  Janet,  so  called  after  the  first  wife, 
died  when  she  was  a  few  months  old. 

The  family  was  prosperous,  as  Ecclefechan  working  life  under- 
stood prosperity.  In  one  year,  his  best,  James  Carlyle  made  in  his 
business  as  much  as  £100.  At  worst  he  earned  an  artisan's  sub- 
stantial wages,  and  was  thrifty  and  prudent.  The  children,  as  they 
passed  out  of  infancy,  ran  about  barefoot,  but  were  otherwise  clean- 
ly clothed,  and  fed  on  oatmeal,  milk,  and  potatoes.  Our  Carlyle 
learned  to  read  from  his  mother  too  early  for  distinct  remembrance; 
when  he  was  five  his  father  taught  him  arithmetic,  and  sent  him 
with  the  other  village  boys  to  school.  Like  the  Carlyles  generally, 
he  had  a  violent  temper.  John,  the  son  of  the  first  marriage,  lived 
usually  with  his  grandfather,  but  came  occasionally  to  visit  his 
parents.  Carlyle's  earliest  recollection  is  of  throwing  his  little 
brown  stool  at  his  brother  in  a  mad  passion  of  rage,  when  he  was 


C  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

scarcely  more  than  two  years  old,  breaking  a  leg  of  it,  and  "feeling 
for  the  first  time  the  united  pangs  of  loss  and  remorse."  The  next 
impression  which  most  affected  him  was  the  small  round  heap  under 
the  sheet  upon  a  bed  where  his  little  sister  lay  dead.  Death,  too,  he 
made  acquaintance  with  in  another  memorable  form.  His  father's 
eldest  brother  John  died.  "The  day  before  his  funeral,  an  ill-be- 
having servant-wench  lifted  the  coverlid  from  off  his  pale,  ghastly 
befilleted  head  to  show  it  to  some  crony  of  hers,  unheeding  of  the 
child  who  was  alone  with  them,  and  to  whom  the  sight  gave  a  new 
pang  of  horror. "  The  grandfather  followed  next,  closing  finally  his 
Anson  and  his  "Arabian  Nights."  He  had  a  brother  whose  advent- 
ures had  been  remarkable.  Francis  Carlyle,  so  he  was  called,  had 
been  apprenticed  to  a  shoemaker.  He,  too,  when  his  time  was  out, 
had  gone  to  England,  to  Bristol  among  other  places,  where  he  fell 
into  drink  and  gambling.  He  lost  all  his  money;  one  morning  after 
an  orgie  he  flung  himself  desperately  out  of  bed  and  broke  his  leg. 
When  he  recovered  he  enlisted  in  a  brig-of-war,  distinguished  him- 
self by  special  gallantry  in  supporting  his  captain  in  a  mutiny,  and 
was  rewarded  with  the  command  of  a  Solway  revenue-cutter.  Af- 
ter many  years  of  rough  creditable  service  he  retired  on  half-pay  to 
his  native  village  of  Middlebie.  There  had  been  some  family  quar- 
rel, and  the  brothers,  though  living  close  to  one  another,  had  held 
no  intercourse.  They  were  both  of  them  above  eighty  years  of  age. 
The  old  Thomas  being  on  his  death-bed,  the  sea-captain's  heart  re- 
lented. He  was  a  grim,  broad,  fierce-looking  man;  "prototype  of 
Smollett's  Trunnion."  Being  too  unwieldy  to  walk,  he  was  brought 
into  Ecclefechan  in  a  cart,  and  carried  in  a  chair  up  the  steep  stairs 
to  his  dying  brother's  room.  There  he  remained  some  twenty  min- 
utes, and  came  down  again  with  a  face  which  printed  itself  in  the 
little  Carlyle's  memory.  They  saw  him  no  more,  and  after  a  brief 
interval  the  old  generation  had  disappeared. 

Amid  such  scenes  our  Carlyle  struggled  through  his  early  boy- 
hood. 

"It  was  not  a  joyful  life  [he  says];  what  life  is?  yet  a  safe  and 
quiet  one,  above  most  others,  or  any  other  I  have  witnessed,  a  whole- 
some one.  We  were  taciturn  rather  than  talkative,  but  if  little  was 
said,  that  little  had  generally  a  meaning. 

"More  remarkable  man  than  my  father  I  have  never  met  in  my 
journey  through  life;  sterling  sincerity  in  thought,  word,  and  deed, 
most  quiet,  but  capable  of  blazing  into  whirlwinds  when  needful, 
and  such  a  flash  of  just  insight  and  brief  natural  eloquence  and  em- 
phasis, true  to  every  feature  of  it  as  I  have  never  known  in  any  other. 
Humor  of  a  most  grim  Scandinavian  type  he  occasionally  had;  wit 
rarely  or  never — too  serious  for  wit — my  excellent  mother  with  per- 
haps the  deeper  piety  in  most  senses  had  also  the  most  sport.  No 
man  of  my  day,  or  hardly  any  man,  can  have  had  better  parents." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  7 

The  Sunday  services  in  Mr.  Johnstone's  meeting-house  were  the 
events  of  the  week.  The  congregation  were  "Dissenters"  of  a 
marked  type,  some  of  them  coming  from  as  far  as  Carlisle ;  another 
party,  and  among  these  at  times  a  little  eager  boy,  known  afterwards 
as  Edward  Irving,  appearing  regularly  from  Annan,  "their  stream- 
ing plaids  in  wet  weather  hanging  up  to  drip." 

"A  man  [Carlyle  wrote  in  1866]  who  in  those  days  awoke  to  the 
belief  that  he  actually  had  a  soul  to  be  saved  or  lo'st  was  apt  to  be 
found  among  the  Dissenting  people,  and  to  have  given  up  attendance 
at  Kirk.  All  dissent  in  Scotland  is  merely  stricter  adherence  to  the 
Church  of  the  Reformation.  Very  venerable  are  those  old  Seceder 
clergy  to  me  now  when  I  look  back.  .  .  .  Most  figures  of  them  in 
my  time  were  hoary  old  men;  men  so  like  evangelists  in  modern 
vesture  and  poor  scholars  and  gentlemen  of  Christ  I  have  nowhere 
met  with  among  Protestant  or  Papal  clergy  in  any  country  in  the 
world.  .  .  .  That  poor  temple  of  my  childhood  is  more  sacred  to  me 
than  the  biggest  cathedral  then  extant  could  have  been;  rude,  rustic, 
bare,  no  temple  in  the  world  was  more  so;  but  there  were  sacred 
lambencies,  tongues  of  authentic  flame  which  kindled  what  was  best 
in  one,  what  has  not  yet  gone  out.  Strangely  vivid  are  some  twelve 
or  twenty  of  those  old  faces  whom  I  used  to  see  every  Sunday,  whose 
names,  employments,  or  precise  dwelling-places  I  never  knew,  but 
whose  portraits  are  yet  clear  to  me  as  in  a  mirror. 

"Their  heavy-laden,  patient,  ever  attentive  faces,  fallen  solitary 
most  of  them,  children  all  away,  wife  away  forever,  or,  it  might  be, 
wife  still  there  and  constant  like  a  shadow,  and  grown  very  like  the 
old  man,  the  thrifty  cleanly  poverty  of  these  good  people,  their  well 
saved  coarse  old  clothes,  tailed  waistcoats  down  to  mid-thigh — ail 
this  I  occasionally  see  as  with  eyes  sixty  or  sixty-five  years  off,  and 
hear  the  very  voice  of  my  mother  upon  it,  whom  sometimes  I  would 
be  questioning  about  these  persons  of  the  drama,  and  endeavoring  to 
describe  and  identify  them." 

Of  one  of  these  worshippers  in  the  Ecclefechan  meeting-house, 
"tall,  straight,  very  clean  always,  brown  as  mahogany,  with  a  beard 
white  as  snow,"  Carlyle  tells  the  following  anecdote  : 

"Old  David  Hope  [that  was  his  name]  lived  on  a  little  farm  close 
by  Solway  shore,  a  mile  or  two  east  of  Annan — a  wet  country  with 
late  harvests  which  are  sometimes  incredibly  difficult  to  save — ten 
days  continuously  pouring,  then  a  day,  perhaps  two  davs,  of  drought, 
part  of  them,  it  may  be,  of  high  roaring  wind  ;  during  wThich  the 
moments  are  golden  for  you,  and  perhaps  you  had  better  work  all 
night  as  presently  there  will  be  deluges  again.  David's  stuff,  one 
such  morning,  was  all  standing  dry,  ready  to  be  saved  still  if  he 
stood  to  it,  which  was  very  much  his  intention.  Breakfast,  whole- 
some hasty  porridge,  was  soon  over,  and  next  in  course  came  family 
worship,  what  they  call  taking  the  book,  i.e. ,  taking  your  Bible,  psalui 
and  chapter  always  part  of  the  service.  David  was  putting  on  his 
spectacles  when  somebody  rushed  in.  '  Such  a  raging  wind  risen 


8  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

will  drive  the  stocks  (shocks)  into  the  sea  if  let  alone.'  'Wind!' 
answered  David.  'Wind  canna  get  ae  straw  that  has  been  ap- 
pointed mine.  Sit  down  and  let  us  worship  God.' " 


CHAPTER  II. 

A.D.  1805.      2ET.  10. 

EDUCATION  is  a  passion  in  Scotland.  It  is  the  pride  of  every  hon- 
orable peasant,  if  he  has  a  son  of  any  promise,  to  give  him  a  chance 
of  rising  as  a  scholar.  As  a  child  Carlyle  could  not  have  failed  to 
show  that  there  was  something  unusual  in  him.  The  school-master 
in  Ecclefechan  gave  a  good  account  of  his  progress  in  "figures." 
The  minister  reported  favorably  of  his  Latin.  "I  do  not  grudge 
thee  thy  schooling,  Tom,"  his  father  said  to  him  one  day,  "now  that 
thy  uncle  Frank  owns  thee  a  better  arithmetician  than  himself."  It 
was  decided  that  he  should  go  to  Annan  Grammar-school,  and 
thence,  if  he  prospered,  to  the  University,  with  final  outlook  to  the 
ministry. 

He  was  a  shy  thoughtful  boy,  shrinking  generally  from  rough 
companions,  but  with  the  hot  temper  of  his  race.  His  mother,  natu- 
rally anxious  for  him,  and  fearing  perhaps  the  family  tendency,  ex- 
tracted a  promise  before  parting  with  him  that  he  would  never  re- 
turn a  blow,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  his  first  experiences  of  school 
were  extremely  miserable.  Boys  of  genius  are  never  well  received 
by  the  common  flock,  and  escape  persecution  only  when  they  are 
able  to  defend  themselves. 

"Sartor  Resartus"  is  generally  mythic,  but  parts  are  historical, 
and  among  them  the  account  of  the  first  launch  of  Teufelsdrockh 
into  the  Hinterschlag  Gymnasium.  Hinterschlag  (smite  behind)  is 
Annan.  Thither,  leaving  home  and  his  mother's  side,  Carlyle  was 
taken  by  his  father,  being  then  in  his  tenth  year,  and  "fluttering 
with  boundless  hopes,"  at  Whitsuntide,  1805,  to  the  school  which 
was  to  be  his  first  step  into  a  higher  life. 

"Well  do  I  remember  [says  Teufelsdrockh]  the  red  sunny  Whit- 
suntide morning  when,  trotting  full  of  hope  by  the  side  of  Father 
Andreas,  I  entered  the  main  street  of  the  place  and  saw  its  steeple 
clock  (then  striking  eight)  and  Schuldthurm  (jail),  and  the  aproned 
or  disaproned  Burghers  moving  in  to  breakfast;  a  little  dog,  in  mad 
terror,  was  rushing  past,  for  some  human  imps  had  tied  a  tin  kettle 
to  its  tail,  fit  emblem  of  much  that  awaited  myself  in  that  mischiev- 
ous den.  Alas!  the  kind  beech  rows  of  Entepfuhl  (Ecclefechan) 
were  hidden  in  the  distance.  I  was  among  strangers  harshly,  at 
best  indifferently,  disposed  to  me ;  the  young  heart  felt  for  the  first 
time  quite  orphaned  and  alone.  .  .  .  My  school-fellows  were  boys, 
mostly  rude  boys,  and  obeyed  the  impulse  of  rude  nature,  which 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  9 

bids  the  deer-herd  fall  upon  any  stricken  hart,  the  duck-flock  put  to 
death  any  broken  -  winged  brother  or  sister,  and  on  all  hands  the 
strong  tyrannize  over  the  weak." 

Carlyle  retained  to  the  end  of  his  days  a  painful,  and  indeed  re- 
sentful recollection  of  these  school  experiences  of  his.  "  This,"  he 
said  of  the  passage  just  quoted  from  "Sartor,"  "is  true,  and  not 
half  the  truth." 

He  had  obeyed  his  mother's  injunctions.  He  had  courage  in 
plenty  to  resent  ill  -  usage,  but  his  promise  was  sacred.  He  was 
passionate,  and  often,  probably,  violent,  but  fight  he  would  not;  and 
every  one  who  knows  English  and  Scotch  life  will  understand  what 
his  fate  must  have  been.  One  consequence  was  a  near  escape  from 
drowning.  The  boys  had  all  gone  to  bathe;  the  lonely  child  had 
stolen  apart  from  the  rest,  where  he  could  escape  from  being  tor- 
mented. He  found  himself  in  a  deep  pool  which  had  been  dug  out 
for  a  dock  and  had  been  filled  with  the  tide.  The  mere  accident  of 
some  one  passing  at  the  time  saved  him.  At  length  he  could  bear 
his  condition  no  longer;  he  turned  on  the  biggest  bully  in  the  school 
and  furiously  kicked  him ;  a  battle  followed,  in  which  he  was  beat- 
en ;  but  he  left  marks  of  his  fists  upon  his  adversary,  which  were 
not  forgotten.  He  taught  his  companions  to  fear  him,  if  only  like 
Brasidas's  mouse.  He  was  persecuted  no  longer,  but  he  carried 
away  bitter  and  resentful  recollections  of  what  he  had  borne,  which 
were  never  entirely  obliterated. 

The  teaching  which  Carlyle  received  at  Annan,  he  says,  "was 
limited,  and  of  its  kind  only  moderately  good.  Latin  and  French 
I  did  get  to  read  with  fluency.  Latin  quantity  was  left  a  frightful 
chaos,  and  I  had  to  learn  it  afterwards.  Some  geometry,  algebra; 
arithmetic  tolerably  well.  Vague  outlines  of  geography  I  learned; 
all  the  books  I  could  get  were  also  devoured.  Greek  consisted  of 
the  alphabet  merely." 

Elsewhere  in  a  note  I  find  the  following  account  of  his  first  teach- 
ing and  school  experience : 

'  •  My  mother  [writes  Carlyle,  in  a  series  of  brief  notes  upon  his 
early  life]  had  taught  me  reading.  I  never  remember  when. 
Tom  Donaldson's  school  at  Ecclef  echan  —  a  severely  -  correct  kind 
of  man  Tom  .  .  .  from  Edinburgh — went  afterwards  to  Manchester ; 
I  never  saw  his  face  again,  though  I  still  remember  it  well  as  always 
merry  and  kind  to  me,  though  to  the  undeserving  severe.  The 
school  then  stood  at  Hoddam  Kirk.  Sandie  Seattle,  subsequently 
a  Burgher  minister  at  Glasgow,  I  well  remember  examining  me. 
He  reported  me  complete  in  English,  age  then  about  seven  .  .  .  that 
I  must  go  to  Latin  or  waste  my  time.  Latin  accordingly,  with  what 
enthusiasm !  But  the  school-master  did  not  himself  know  Latin. 
I  gradually  got  altogether  swamped  and  bewildered  under  him. 
Reverend  Mr.  Johnstone,of  Ecclef  echan,  or  rather  first  his  sou,  home 

1* 


10  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

from  college,  and  already  teaching  a  nephew  or  a  cousin,  had  to 
take  me  in  hand,  and  once  pulled  afloat  I  made  rapid  and  sure  way. 

"  In  my  tenth  year  I  was  sent  to  the  grammar  school  at  Annan. 
May  26,  a  bright  sunny  morning — Whit-Monday — which  I  still  viv- 
idly remember,  I  trotting  at  my  father's  side  in  the  way  alluded  to 
in  '  Sartor.'  It  was  a  bright  morning,  and  to  me  full  of  moment — 
of  fluttering,  boundless  hopes,  saddened  by  parting  with  mother, 
with  home,  and  which  afterwards  were  cruelly  disappointed. 

"  '  Sartor'  is  not  to  be  trusted  in  details.  Greek  consisted  of  the 
Alphabet  mainly.  Hebrew  is  a  German  entity.1  Nobody  in  that 
region  except  old  Mr.  Johnstone  could  have  read  a  sentence  of  it 
to  save  his  life.  I  did  get  to  read  Latin  and  French  with  fluency — 
Latin  quantity  was  left  a  frightful  chaos,  and  I  had  to  learn  it  after- 
wards. Some  geometry,  algebra,  arithmetic  thoroughly  well.  Vague 
outlines  of  geography  I  did  learn;  all  the  books  I  could  get  were 
also  devoured.  Mythically  true  is  what  '  Sartor '  says  of  my  school- 
fellows, and  not  half  the  truth.  Unspeakable  is  the  damage  and 
defilement  I  got  out  of  those  coarse,  unguided  tyrannous  cubs,  es- 
pecially till  I  revolted  against  them  and  gave  stroke  for  stroke,  as 
my  pious  mother,  in  her  great  love  of  peace  and  of  my  best  inter- 
ests, spiritually  chiefly,  had  imprudently  forbidden  me  to  do.  One 
way  and  another  I  had  never  been  so  wretched  as  here  in  that 
school,  and  the  first  two  years  of  my  time  in  it  still  count  among 
the  miserable  of  my  life.  Academia!  High  School  Instructors  of 
Youth !  Oh,  ye  unspeakable ! ' ' 

Of  holidays  we  hear  nothing,  though  holidays  there  must  have 
been  at  Christmas  and  Midsummer  ;  little  also  of  school  friendships 
or  amusements.  For  the  last,  in  such  shape  as  could  have  been 
found  in  boys  of  his  class  in  Annan,  Carlyle  could  have  had  little 
interest.  He  speaks  warmly  of  his  mathematical  teacher,  a  certain 
Mr.  Morley,  f rom  Cumberland,  "whom  he  loved  much,  and  who 
taught  him  well."  He  had  formed  a  comradeship  with  one  or  two 
boys  of  his  own  age,  who  were  not  entirely  uncongenial  to  him ; 
but  only  one  incident  is  preserved  which  was  of  real  moment.  In 
his  third  school  year  Carlyle  first  consciously  saw  Edward  Irving. 
Irving's  family  lived  in  Annan.  He  had  himself  been  at  the  school, 
and  had  gone  thence  to  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  He  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  there,  gained  prizes,  and  was  otherwise  honora- 
bly spoken  of.  Annan,  both  town  and  school,  was  proud  of  the 
brilliant  lad  that  they  had  produced.  And  Irving  one  day  looked 
in  upon  the  class-room,  the  masters  out  of  compliment  attending 
him.  "He  was  scrupulously  dressed,  black  coat,  tight  pantaloons 
in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  looked  very  neat,  self  -  possessed, 
and  amiable ;  a  flourishing  slip  of  a  youth  with  coal-black  hair, 
swarthy  clear  complexion,  very  straight  on  his  feet,  and,  except  for 


Alluding  to  a  German  biography  in  which  he  was  said  to  have  learned  Hebrew. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  11 

the  glaring  squint,  decidedly  handsome."  The  boys  listened  eager- 
ly as  he  talked  in  a  free,  airy  way  about  Edinburgh  and  its  prolV.-s- 
ors.  A  University  man  who  has  made  a  name  for  himself  is  infi- 
nitely admirable  to  younger  ones  ;  he  is  not  too  far  above  them  to 
be  comprehensible.  They  know  what  he  has  done,  and  they  hope 
distantly  that  they  too  one  day  may  do  the  like.  Of  course  Irving 
did  not  distinguish  Carlyle.  He  walked  through  the  rooms  and 
disappeared. 

The  Hinterschlag  Gymnasium  was  over  soon  after,  and  Carlyle's 
future  career  was  now  to  be  decided  on.  The  Ecclefechan  family 
life  was  not  favorable  to  displays  of  precocious  genius.  Vanity  was 
the  last  quality  that  such  a  man  as  James  Carlyle  would  encourage, 
and  there  was  a  severity  in  his  manner  which  effectively  repressed 
any  disposition  to  it. 

"We  had  all  to  complain  [Carlyle  says]  that  we  dared  not  freely 
love  our  father.  His  heart  seemed  as  if  walled  in.  My  mother  has 
owned  to  me  that  she  could  never  understand  him,  and  that  her  af- 
fection and  admiration  of  him  were  obstructed.  It  seemed  as  if  an 
atmosphere  of  fear  repelled  us  from  him,  me  especially.  My  heart 
and  tongue  played  freely  with  my  mother.  He  had  an  air  of  deep- 
est gravity  and  even  sternness.  He  had  the  most  entire  and  open 
contempt  for  idle  tattle — what  he  called  clatter.  Any  talk  that  had 
meaning  in  it  he  could  listen  to:  what  had  no  meaning  in  it,  above 
all  what  seemed  false,  he  absolutely  could  not  and  would  not  hear, 
but  abruptly  turned  from  it.  Long  may  we  remember  his  '  I  don't 
believe  thee  ;'  his  tongue-paralyzing  cola  indifferent  '  Hah.' " 

Besides  fear,  Carlyle,  as  he  grew  older,  began  to  experience  a  cer- 
tain awe  of  his  father  as  of  a  person  of  altogether  superior  qualities. 

"N"one  of  us  [he  writes]  will  ever  forget  that  bold  glowing  style 
of  his,  flowing  free  from  the  untutored  soul,  full  of  metaphor,  though 
he  knew  not  what  metaphor  was,  witli  all  manner  of  potent  words 
which  he  appropriated  and  applied  with  surprising  accuracy — brief, 
energetic,  conveying  the  most  perfect  picture,  definite,  clear,  not  in 
ambitious  colors,  but  in  full  white  sunlight.  Emphatic  I  have  heard 
him  beyond  all  men.  In  anger  he  had  no  need  of  oaths ;  his  words 
were  like  sharp  arrows  that  smote  into  the  very  heart." 

Such  a  father  may  easily  have  been  alarming  and  slow  to  gain  his 
children's  confidence.  He  had  silently  observed  his  little  Tom,  how- 
ever. The  reports  from  the  Annan  masters  were  all  favorable,  and 
when  the  question  rose  what  was  to  be  done  with  him,  he  inclined 
to  venture  the  University.  The  wise  men  of  Ecclefechan  shook 
their  heads.  "Educate  a  boy,"  said  one  of  them,  "and  he  grows 
up  to  despise  his  ignorant  parents."  Others  said  it  was  a  risk,  it 
was  waste  of  money,  there  was  a  large  family  to  be  provided  for, 
too  much  must  not  be  spent  upon  one,  etc.  James  Carlyle  had  seen 


12  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

something  in  his  boy's  character  which  showed  him  that  the  ri.sk,  if 
risk  there  was,  must  be  encountered;  and  to  Edinburgh  it  was  de- 
cided that  Tom  should  go  and  be  made  a  scholar  of. 

To  English  ears  university  life  suggests  splendid  buildings,  luxu- 
rious rooms,  rich  endowments  as  the  reward  of  successful  industry ; 
as  students,  young  men  between  nineteen  and  twenty-three  with 
handsome  allowances,  spending  each  of  them  on  an  average  double 
the  largest  income  which  James  Carlyle  had  earned  in  any  year  of 
his  life.  Universities  north  of  the  Tweed  had  in  those  days  no 
money  prizes  to  offer,  no  fellowships  and  scholarships,  nothing  at 
all  but  an  education,  and  a  discipline  in  poverty  and  self-denial. 
The  lads  who  went  to  them  were  the  children,  most  of  them,  of 
parents  as  poor  as  Carlyle's  father.  They  knew  at  what  a  cost  the 
expense  of  sending  them  to  college,  relatively  small  as  it  was,  could 
be  afforded;  and  they  went  with  the  fixed  purpose  of  making  the 
very  utmost  of  their  time.  Five  months  only  of  each  year  they 
could  remain  in  their  classes;  for  the  rest  of  it  they  taught  pupils 
themselves,  or  worked  on  the  farm  at  home  to  pay  for  their  own 
learning. 

Each  student,  as  a  rule,  was  the  most  promising  member  of  the 
family  to  which  he  belonged,  and  extraordinary  confidence  was 
placed  in  them.  They  were  sent  to  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  or  wher- 
ever it  might  be,  when  they  were  mere  boys  of  fourteen.  They  had 
no  one  to  look  after  them  either  on  their  journey  or  when  they  came 
to  the  end.  They  walked  from  their  homes,  being  unable  to  pay  for 
coach-hire.  They  entered  their  own  names  at  the  college.  They 
found  their  own  humble  lodgings,  and  were  left  entirely  to  their  own 
capacity  for  self -conduct.  The  carriers  brought  them  oatmeal,  po- 
tatoes, and  salt  butter  from  the  home  farm,  with  a  few  eggs  occasion- 
ally as  a  luxury.  With  their  thrifty  habits  they  required  no  other 
food.  In  the  return  cart  their  linen  went  back  to  their  mothers  to 
be  washed  and  mended.  Poverty  protected  them  from  temptations 
to  vicious  amusements.  They  formed  their  economical  friendships; 
they  shared  their  breakfasts  and  their  thoughts,  and  had  their  clubs 
for  conversation  or  discussion.  When  term  was  over  they  walked 
home  in  parties,  each  district  having  its  little  knot  belonging  to  it ; 
and  known  along  the  roads  as  University  scholars,  they  were  assured 
of  entertainment  on  the  way. 

As  a  training  in  self-dependence  no  better  education  could  have 
been  found  in  these  islands.  If  the  teaching  had  been  as  good  as  the 
discipline  of  character,  the  Scotch  universities  might  have  competed 
with  the  world.  The  teaching  was  the  weak  part.  There  were  no 
funds,  either  in  the  colleges  or  with  the  students,  to  provide  personal 
instruction  as  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  The  professors  were  indi- 
vidually excellent,  but  they  had  to  teach  large  classes,  and  had  no 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  13 

leisure  to  attend  particularly  to  this  or  that  promising  pupil.  The 
universities  were  opportunities  to  boys  who  were  able  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  them,  and  that  was  all. 

Such  was  the  life  on  which  Carlylc  was  now  to  enter,  and  such 
were  the  circumstances  of  it.  It  was  the  November  term,  1809.  lie 
was  to  be  fourteen  on  the  fourth  of  the  approaching  December.  Ed- 
inburgh is  nearly  one  hundred  miles  from  Ecclefechan.  He  was  to 
go  on  foot  like  the  rest,  under  the  guardianship  of  a  boy  named  "  Tom 
Small, "  two  or  three  years  his  senior,  who  had  already  been  at  col- 
lege, and  was  held,  therefore,  to  be  a  sufficient  protector. 

"How  strangely  vivid  [he  says  in  1866],  how  remote  and  wonder- 
ful, tinged  with  the  hues  of  far-off  love  and  sadness,  is  that  journey 
to  me  now  after  fifty -seven  years  of  time!  My  mother  and  father 
walking  with  me  in  the  dark  frosty  November  morning  through  the 
village  to  set  us  on  our  way ;  my  dear  and  loving  mother,  her  tremu- 
lous affection,  my  etc. " 

"Tom  Smail"was  a  poor  companion,  very  innocent,  very  con- 
ceited, an  indifferent  scholar.  Carlyle  in  his  own  mind  had  a  small 
opinion  of  him.  The  journey  over  the  moors  was  a  weary  one,  the 
elder  lad  stalking  on  generally  ahead,  whistling  an  Irish  tune;  the 
younger  "given  up  to  his  bits  of  reflections  in  the  silence  of  the 
hills."  Twenty  miles  a  day  the  boys  walked,  by  Moffat  and  over 
Airock  Stane.  They  reached  Edinburgh  early  one  afternoon,  got  a 
lodging  in  Simon  Square,  got  dinner,  and  sallied  out  again  that  "  Pal- 
inurus  Tom  "  might  give  the  novice  a  glance  of  the  great  city.  The 
scene  so  entirely  new  to  him  left  an  impression  on  Carlyle  which 
remained  distinct  after  more  than  half  a  century. 

"The  novice  mind  [he  says]  was  not  excessively  astonished  all 
at  once,  but  kept  its  eyes  open  and  said  nothing.  What  streets  we 
went  through  I  don't  the  least  recollect,  but  have  some  faint  im- 
age of  St.  Giles's  High  Kirk,  and  of  the  Lucken  booths  there  with 
their  strange  little  ins  and  outs  and  eager  old  women  in  miniature 
shops,  of  combs,  shoe-laces,  and  trifles ;  still  fainter  image,  if  any,  of 
the  sublime  horse  statue  in  Parliament  Square  hard  by ;  directly  af- 
ter which  Small,  audaciously,  so  I  thought,  pushed  open  a  door  free 
to  all  the  world  and  dragged  me  in  with  him  to  a  scene  which  I  have 
never  forgotten.  An  immense  hall  dimly  lighted  from  the  top  of  the 
walls,  and  perhaps  with  candles  burning  in  it  here  and  there,  all  in 
strange  chiaroscuro,  and  filled  with  what  I  thought  exaggeratively  a 
thousand  or  two  of  human  creatures,  all  astir  in  a  boundless  buzz  of 
talk,  and  simmering  about  in  every  direction — some  solitary,  some 
in  groups.  By  degrees  I  noticed  that  some  were  in  wig  and  black 
gown,  some  not,  but  in  common  clothes,  all  well  dressed ;  that  here 
and  there  on  the  sides  of  the  hall  were  little  thrones  with  enclosures 
and  steps  leading  up,  red  velvet  figures  sitting  in  said  thrones,  and 
the  black-gowned  eagerly  speaking  to  them;  advocates  pleading  to 
judges  as  I  easily  understood.  How  they  could  be  heard  in  such  a 
I.— 3 


14  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

grinding  din  was  somewhat  a  mystery.  Higher  up  on  the  walls,  stuck 
there  like  swallows  in  their  nests,  sate  other  humbler  figures  ;  these 
I  found  were  the  sources  of  certain  wildly  plangent  lamentable  kinds 
of  sounds,  or  echoes,  which  from  time  to  time  pierced  the  universal 
noise  of  feet  and  voices,  and  rose  unintelligibly  above  it  as  in  the  bit- 
terness of  incurable  woe:  criers  of  the  court  I  gradually  came  to  un- 
derstand. And  this  was  Themis  in  her  '  outer  house  ;'  such  a  scene 
of  chaotic  din  and  hurly-burly  as  I  had  never  figured  before.  It 
seems  to  me  that  there  were  four  times  or  ten  tunes  as  many  people 
in  that  '  outer  house '  as  there  now  usually  are  ;  and  doubtless  there 
is  something  of  fact  in  this,  such  have  been  the  curtailments  and 
abatements  of  law  practice  in  the  head  courts  since  then,  and  trans- 
ference of  it  to  county  jurisdiction.  Last  time  I  was  in  that  outer 
house  (some  six  or  seven  years  ago  in  broad  daylight)  it  seemed  like 
a  place  fallen  asleep,  fallen  almost  dead. 

"Notable  figures,  now  all  vanished  utterly,  were  doubtless  wan- 
dering about  as  part  of  that  continual  hurly-burly  when  I  first  set 
foot  in  it  fifty-seven  years  ago ;  great  law  lords  this  and  that,  great 
advocates  alors  celebres,  as  Thiers  has  it.  Craustoun,  Cockburn,  Jef- 
frey, Walter  Scott,  John  Clark.  To  me  at  that  tune  they  were  not 
even  names  ;  but  I  have  since  occasionally  thought  of  that  night  and 
place  where  probably  they  were  living  substances — some  of  them  in 
a  kind  of  relation  to  me  afterwards.  Time  with  his  tenses — what  a 
wonderful  entity  is  he  always  !  The  only  figure  I  distinctly  recollect 
and  got  printed  on  my  brain  that  night  was  John  Clark,  there  veri- 
tably hitching  about,  whose  grim  strong  countenance  with  its  black 
far-projecting  brows,  and  look  of  great  sagacity,  fixed  him  in  my 
memory." 

This  scene  alone  remains  recorded  of  Carlyle's  early  Edinburgh 
experience.  Of  the  University  he  says  that  he  learned  little  there. 
In  the  Latin  class  he  was  under  Professor  Christieson,  who  "never 
noticed  him  nor  could  distinguish  him  from  another  Mr.  Irving  Car- 
lyle,  an  older,  bigger  boy,  with  red  hair,  wild  buck  teeth,  and  scorch- 
ed complexion,  and  the  worst  Latinist  of  his  acquaintance." 

"In  the  classical  field  [he  writes  elsewhere]  I  am  truly  as  noth- 
ing. Homer  I  learnt  to  read  in  the  original  with  difficulty,  after 
Wolf's  broad  flash  of  light  thrown  into  it ;  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles 
mainly  in  translations.  Tacitus  and  Virgil  became  really  interest- 
ing to  me ;  Homer  and  .^Eschylus  above  all ;  Horace  egoistical, 
leicUtfertig,  in  sad  fact  I  never  cared  for  ;  Cicero,  after  long  and  va- 
rious trials,  always  proved  a  windy  person  and  a  weariness  to  me, 
extinguished  altogether  by  Middleton's  excellent  though  misjudging 
life  of  him." 

It  was  not  much  better  with  philosophy.  Dugald  Stewart  had 
gone  away  two  years  before  Carlyle  entered.  Brown  was  the  new 
professor,  "an  eloquent,  acute  little  gentleman,  full  of  enthusiasm 
about  simple  suggestions,  relative,"  etc.,  unprofitable  utterly  to  Car- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  15 

lyle,  and  bewildering  and  dispiriting,  as*  the  autumn  winds  among 
withered  leaves. 

In  mathematics  only  he  made  real  progress.  His  temperament 
was  impatient  of  uncertainties.  He  threw  himself  with  delight  into 
a  form  of  knowledge  in  which  the  conclusions  were  indisputable, 
where  at  each  step  he  could  plant  his  foot  with  confidence.  Pro- 
fessor Leslie  (Sir  John  Leslie  afterwards)  discovered  his  talent,  and 
exerted  himself  to  help  him  with  a  zeal  of  which  Carlyle  never  af- 
terwards ceased  to  speak  with  gratitude.  That  he  made  progress  in 
mathematics  was  ' '  perhaps, "  as  he  says, 

"due  mainly  to  the  accident  that  Leslie  alone  of  my  professors  had 
some  genius  in  his  business,  and  awoke  a  certain  enthusiasm  in  me. 
For  several  years  geometry  shone  before  me  as  the  noblest  of  all 
sciences,  and  I  prosecuted  it  in  all  my  best  hours  and  moods.  But 
far  more  pregnant  inquiries  were  rising  in  me,  and  gradually  en- 
grossing me,  heart  as  well  as  head,  so  that  about  1820  or  1821  I  had 
entirely  thrown  mathematics  aside,  and  except  in  one  or  two  brief 
spurts,  more  or  less  of  a  morbid  nature,  have  never  in  the  least  re- 
garded it  farther." 

Yet  even  in  mathematics,  on  ground  with  which  he  was  familiar, 
his  shy  nature  was  unfitted  for  display.  He  carried  off  no  prizes. 
He  tried  only  once,  and  though  he  was  notoriously  superior  to  all 
his  competitors,  the  crowd  and  noise  of  the  class-room  prevented 
him  from  even  attempting  to  distinguish  himself.  I  have  heard 
him  say  late  in  life  that  his  thoughts  never  came  to  him  in  proper 
form  except  when  he  was  alone. 

"  Sartor  Rcsartus,"  I  have  already  said,  must  not  be  followed  too 
literally  as  a  biographical  authority.  It  is  mythic,  not  historical. 
Nevertheless,  as  mythic  it  may  be  trusted  for  the  general  outlines. 

"The  university  where  I  was  educated  [says  Teufelsdrockh]  still 
stands  vivid  enough  in  my  remembrance,  and  I  know  its  name  well, 
which  name,  however,  I  from  tenderness  to  existing  interests  shall 
in  nowise  divulge.  It  is  my  painful  duty  to  say  that  out  of  Eng- 
land and  Spain  purs  was  the  worst  of  all  hitherto  discovered  univer- 
sities. This  is  indeed  a  time  when  right  education  is,  as  nearly  as 
may  be,  impossible;  however,  in  degrees  of  wrongness  there  is  no 
limit;  nay,  I  can  conceive  a  worse  system  than  that  of  the  Nameless 
itself,  as  poisoned  victual  may  be  worse  than  absolute  hunger. 

"It  is  written,  when  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  both  shall  fall  into 
the  ditch.  Wherefore  in  such  circumstances  may  it  not  sometimes 
be  safer  if  both  leader  and  led  simply — sit  still?  Had  you  anywhere 
in  Crim  Tartary  walled  in  a  square  enclosure,  furnished  it  with  a 
small  ill-chosen  library,  and  then  turned  loose  into  it  eleven  hundred 
Christian  striplings,  to  tumble  about  as  they  listed  from  three  to  sev- 
en years;  certain  persons  under  the  title  of  professors  being  station- 
ed at  the  gates  to  declare  aloud  that  it  was  a  university  and  exact 
considerable  admission  fees,  you  had,  not  indeed  in  mechanical 


16  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

structure,  yet  in  spirit  and' result,  some  imperfect  substance  of  our 
High  Seminary.  .  .  .  The  professors  in  the  Nameless  lived  with  ease, 
with  safety,  by  a  mere  reputation  constructed  in  past  times — and 
then,  too,  with  no  great  effort — by  quite  another  class  of  persons; 
which  reputation,  like  a  strong  brisk-going  undershot  wheel  sunk 
into  the  general  current,  bade  fair,  with  only  a  little  annual  repaint- 
ing on  their  part,  to  hold  long  together,  and  of  its  own  accord  assid- 
uously grind  for  them.  Happy  that  it  was  so  for  the  millers  !  They 
themselves  needed  not  to  work.  Their  attempts  at  working,  what 
they  called  educating,  now  when  I  look  back  on  it  fill  me  with  a 
certain  mute  admiration.  .  . . 

"Besides  all  this  we  boasted  ourselves  a  rational  university,  in 
the  highest  degree  hostile  to  mysticism.  Thus  was  the  young  va- 
cant mind  furnished  with  much  talk  about  progress  of  the  species, 
dark  ages,  prejudice,  and  the  like,  so  that  all  were  quickly  blown 
out  into  a  state  of  windy  argumentativeness,  whereby  the  better  sort 
had  soon  to  end  in  sick  impotent  scepticism;  the  worser  sort  explode 
in  finished  self-conceit,  and  to  all  spiritual  interests  become  dead.  .  .  . 
The  hungry  young  looked  up  to  their  spiritual  nurses,  and  for  food 
were  bidden  eat  the  east  wind.  What  vain  jargon  of  controver- 
sial metaphysics,  etymology,  and  mechanical  manipulation,  falsely 
named  Science,  was  current  there,  I  indeed  learned  better  than  per- 
haps the  most.  Among  eleven  hundred  Christian  youths  there  will 
not  be  wanting  some  eleven  eager  to  learn.  By  collision  with  such, 
a  certain  warmth,  a  certain  polish  was  communicated;  by  instinct 
and  by  happy  accident  I  took  less  to  rioting  than  to  thinking  and 
reading,  which  latter  also  I  was  free  to  do.  Nay,  from  the  Chaos 
of  that  library  I  succeeded  in  fishing  up  more  books  than  had  been 
known  to  the  keeper  thereof.  The  foundation  of  a  literary  life  was 
hereby  laid.  I  learned  on  my  own  strength  to  read  fluently  in  al- 
most all  cultivated  languages,  on  almost  all  subjects  and  sciences. 
A  certain  ground-plan  of  human  nature  and  life  began  to  fashion 
itself  in  me,  by  additional  experiments  to  be  corrected  and  indefi- 
nitely extended."1 

The  teaching  at  a  university  is  but  half  what  is  learned  there;  the 
other  half,  and  the  most  important,  is  what  young  men  learn  from 
one  another.  Carlyle's  friends  at  Edinburgh,  the  eleven  out  of  the 
eleven  hundred,  were  of  his  own  rank  of  life,  sons  of  peasants  who 
had  their  own  way  to  make  in  life.  From  their  letters,  many  of 
which  have  been  preserved,  it  is  clear  that  they  were  clever  good 
lads,  distinctly  superior  to  ordinary  boys  of  their  age,  Carlyle  him- 
self holding  the  first  place  in  their  narrow  circle.  Their  lives  were 
pure  and  simple.  Nowhere  in  these  letters  is  there  any  jesting  witli 
vice  or  light  allusions  to  it.  The  boys  wrote  to  one  another  on  the 
last  novel  of  Scott  or  poem  of  Byron,  on  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
on  the  war,  on  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  occasionally  on  geometrical 
problems,  sermons,  college  exercises,  and  divinity  lectures,  and  again 

i  "Sartor  Resartus,"  book  ii.  chap.  iii. 


17 

on  innocent  trifles,  with  sketches,  now  and  then  humorous  and 
bright,  of  Annandale  life  as  it  was  seventy  yeare  ago.  They  looked 
to  Carlyle  to  direct  their  judgment  and  advise  them  in  difficulties. 
He  was  the  prudent  one  of  the  party,  able,  if  money  matters  went 
wrong,  to  help  them  out  of  his  humble  savings.  He  was  already 
noted,  too,  for  power  of  effective  speech — "far  too  sarcastic  for  so 
young  a  man "  was  what  elder  people  said  of  him.  One  of  his  cor- 
respondents addressed  him  always  as  "Jonathan,"  or  "Dean,"  or 
"Doctor,"  as  if  he  was  to  be  a  second  Swift.  Others  called  him 
"Parson,"  perhaps  from  his  intended  profession.  All  foretold  fut- 
ure greatness  to  him  of  one  kind  or  another.  They  recognized  that 
he  was  not  like  other  young  men,  that  he  was  superior  to  other 
young  men,  in  character  as  well  as  intellect.  "Knowing  how  you 
abhor  all  affectation  "  is  an  expression  used  to  him  when  he  was 
still  a  mere  boy. 

His  destination  was  "the  ministry,"  and  for  this,  knowing  how 
much  his  father  and  mother  wished  it,  he  tried  to  prepare  himself. 
He  was  already  conscious,  however,  ' '  that  he  had  not  the  least  en- 
thusiasm for  that  business,  that  even  grave  prohibitory  doubts  were 
gradually  rising  ahead.  Formalism  was  not  the  pinching  point, 
had  there  been  the  preliminary  of  belief  forthcoming."  "  No  church 
or  speaking  entity  whatever,"  he  admitted,  "can  do  without  formu- 
las, but  it  must  believe  them  first  if  it  would  be  honest." 

Two  letters  to  Carlyle  from  one  of  these  early  friends  may  be 
given  here  as  specimens  of  the  rest.  They  bring  back  the  Annan- 
dale  of  1814,  and  show  a  faint  kind  of  image  of  Carlyle  himself  re- 
flected on  the  writer's  mind.  His  name  was  Hill.  He  was  about 
Carlyle's  age,  and  subscribes  himself  Peter  Pindar : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Castlcbank:  January  1, 1814.    WindS.W.    Weather  hazy. 

"  What  is  the  life  of  man  1  Is  it  not  to  shift  from  trouble  to  trou- 
ble and  from  side  to  side  ?  to  button  up  one  cause  of  vexation  and 
unbutton  another  ?  So  wrote  the  celebrated  Sterne,  so  quoted  the 
no  less  celebrated  Jonathan,  and  so  may  the  poor  devil  Pindar  ap- 
ply it  to  himself.  You  mention  some  two  or  three  disappointments 
you  have  met  with  lately.  For  shame,  Sir,  to  be  so  peevish  and 
splenetic  !  Your  disappointments  are  '  trifles  light  as  air '  when 
compared  with  the  vexations  and  disappointments  I  have  experi- 
enced. I  was  vexed  and  grieved  to  the  very  soul  and  beyond  the 
soul,  to  go  to  Galloway  and  be  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of — some- 
thing you  know  nothing  about.  I  was  disappointed  on  my  return 
at  finding  he r  in  a  devil  of  a  bad  shy  humor.  I  was — but  why  do  I 
talk  to  you  about  such  things  ?  There  are  joys  and  sorrows,  pleas- 
ures and  pains,  with  which  a  Stoic  Platonic  humdrum  bookworm 
sort  of  fellow  like  you,  Sir,  intermeddleth  not,  and  consequently  rau 


18  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

have  no  idea  of.  I  was  disappointed  in  Bonaparte's  escaping  to 
Paris  when  he  ought  to  have  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  allies  at 
Leipsic.  I  was  disappointed  at  your  not  mentioning  aaything  about 
our  old  acquaintances  at  Edinburgh.  Last  night  there  was  a  flag 
on  the  mail,  and  to-night,  when  I  expected  a  Gazette  announcing 
some  great  victory,  the  taking  of  Bayonne  or  the  marching  of  Wel- 
lington to  Bourdeaux,  I  was  disappointed  that  the  cause  of  all  the 
rejoicing  was  an  engagement  with  the  French  under  the  walls  of 
Bayonne,  in  which  we  lost  upwards  of  500  men  killed  and  3000 
wounded,  and  drew  off  the  remainder  of  our  army  safe  from  the 
destroying  weapons  of  the  enemy.  I  was  disappointed  last  Sunday, 
after  I  had  got  my  stockings  on,  to  find  that  there  was  a  hole  in  the 
heel  of  one  of  them.  I  read  a  great  many  books  at  Kirkton,  and 
was  disappointed  at  finding  faults  in  almost  every  one  of  them.  I 
will  be  disappointed ;  but  what  signifies  going  on  at  this  rate?  Un- 
mixed happiness  is  not  the  lot  of  man — 

'  Of  chance  and  change,  oh !  let  not  man  complain, 
Else  never,  never,  will  he  cease  to  waiL' 

"  The  weather  is  dull ;  I  am  melancholy.     Good-night. 

"P.S. — My  dearest  Dean, — The  weather  is  quite  altered.  The 
wind  has  veered  about  to  the  north.  I  am  in  good  spirits,  am 
happy. " 

From  t7ie  Same. 

"Castlebank:  May  9. 

"Dear  Doctor, — I  received  yours  last  night,  and  a  scurrilous, 
blackguarding,  flattering,  vexing,  pernicked,  humorous,  witty,  daft 
letter  it  is.  Shall  I  answer  it  piecemeal  as  a  certain  Honorable  House 
does  a  speech  from  its  Sovereign,  by  echoing  back  each  syllable  ? 
No.  This  won't  do.  Oh,  how  I  envy  you,  Dean!  that  you  can  run 
on  in  such  an  off-hand  way,  ever  varying  the  scene  with  wit  and 
mirth,  while  honest  Peter  must  hold  on  in  one  numskull  track  to  all 
eternity  pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  so  that  one  of  Peter's 
letters  is  as  good  as  a  thousand. 

"You  seem  to  take  a  friendly  concern  in  my  affaires  de  caur. 
By-the-bye,  now,  Jonathan,  without  telling  you  any  particulars  of 
my  situation  in  these  matters,  which  is  scarcely  known  to  myself, 
can't  I  advise  you  to  fall  in  love  ?  Granting  as  I  do  that  is  attend- 
ed with  sorrows,  still,  Doctor,  these  are  amply  compensated  by  the 
tendency  that  this  tender  passion  has  to  ameliorate  the  heart,  '  pro- 
vided always,  and  be  it  further  enacted,'  that  chaste  as  Don  Quixote 
or  Don  Quixote's  horse,  your  heart  never  breathes  a  wish  that  angels 
may  not  register.  Only  have  care  of  this,  Dean,  and  fall  in  love  as 
soon  as  you  can — you  will  be  the  better  for  it." 

Pages  follow  of  excellent  criticism  from  Peter  on  Leyden's  poems, 
on  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  Miss  Porter,  etc.  Carlyle  has  told  him 
that  he  was  looking  for  a  subject  for  an  epic  poem.  Peter  gives  him 
a  tragi-comic  description  of  a  wedding  at  Middlebie,  with  the  return 
home  in  a  tempest,  which  he  thinks  will  answer  ;  and  concludes: 

"  Your  reflections  on  the  fall  of  Napoleon  bring  to  my  mind  an 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  19 

observation  of  a  friend  of  mine  the  other  day.     I  was  repeating 
these  lines  in  Shakespeare  and  applying  them  to  Bony — 

'  But  yesterday  the  word  of  Caesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world;  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. ' 

"  '  Ay,  very  true,'  quoth  he  ;  '  the  fallow  could  na  be  content  wi* 
maist  all  Europe,  and  now  he's  glad  o'  Elba  room.' 

"Now,  Doctor,  let  me  repeat  my  instructions  to  you  in  a  few 
words.  Write  immediately  a  very  long  letter  ;  write  an  epic  poem 
as  soon  as  may  be.  Send  me  some  more  'remarks.'  Tell  me  how 
you  are,  how  you  are  spending  your  time  in  Edinburgh.  Fall  in 
love  as  soon  as  you  can  meet  with  a  proper  object.  Ever  be  a 
friend  to  Pindar,  and  thou  shalt  always  find  one  in  the  heart  sub- 
dued, not  subduing.  PETEB." 

In  default  of  writings  of  his  own,  none  of  which  survive  out  of 
this  early  period,  such  lineaments  of  Carlyle  as  appear  through  these 
letters  are  not  without  instructiveness. 


CHAPTER  IH. 

A.D.  1814.    SET.  19. 

HAYING  finished  his  college  course,  Carlyle  looked  out  for  pupils 
to  maintain  himself.  The  ministry  was  still  his  formal  destination, 
but  several  years  had  still  to  elapse  before  a  final  resolution  would 
be  necessary — four  years  if  he  remained  in  Edinburgh  attending  lect- 
ures in  the  Divinity  Hall ;  six  if  he  preferred  to  be  a  rural  Divinity 
student,  presenting  himself  once  in  every  twelve  months  at  the  Uni- 
versity and  reading  a  discourse.  He  did  not  wish  to  hasten  matters, 
and,  the  pupil  business  being  precarious  and  the  mathematical  tutor- 
ship at  Annan  falling  vacant,  Carlyle  offered  for  it,  and  was  elected 
by  competition  in  1814.  He  never  liked  teaching.  The  recommen- 
dation of  the  place  was  the  sixty  or  seventy  pounds  a  year  of  salary, 
which  relieved  his  father  of  farther  expense  upon  him,  and  enabled 
him  to  put  by  a  little  money  every  year,  to  be  of  use  in  future  either 
to  himself  or  his  family.  In  other  respects  the  life  at  Annan  was 
only  disagreeable  to  him.  His  tutor's  work  he  did  scrupulously 
well,  but  the  society  of  a  country  town  had  no  interest  for  him. 
He  would  not  visit.  He  lived  alone,  shutting  himself  up  with  his 
books,  disliked  the  business  more  and  more,  and  came  finally  to 
hate  it.  Annan,  associated  as  it  was  with  the  odious  memories  of 
his  school -days,  had,  indeed,  but  one  merit — that  he  was  within 
reach  of  his  family,  especially  of  his  mother,  to  whom  he  was  at- 
tached with  a  real  passion. 
His  father  had  by  this  time  given  up  business  at  Ecclefechan, 


20  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  had  taken  a  'farm  in  the  neighborhood.  The  great  north  road 
which  runs  through  the  village  rises  gradually  into  an  upland  tree- 
less grass  country.  About  two  miles  distant  on  the  left-hand  side 
as  you  go  towards  Lockerby,  there  stands,  about  three  hundred  yards 
in  from  the  road,  a  solitary  low  whitewashed  cottage,  with  a  few 
poor  out-buildings  attached  to  it.  This  is  Mainhill,  which  was  now 
for  many  years  to  be  Onrlyle's  Twrne,  where  he  first  learned  German, 
studied  "Faust"  in  a  dry  ditch,  and  completed  his  translation  of 
"  Wilhelm  Meister."  The  house  itself  is,  or  was  when  the  Carlyles 
occupied  it,  of  one  story,  and  consisted  of  three  rooms,  a  kitchen, 
a  small  bedroom,  and  a  large  one  connected  by  a  passage.  The  door 
opens  into  a  square  farm-yard,  on  one  side  of  which  are  stables,  on 
the  other  side  opposite  the  door  the  cow  byres,  on  the  third  a  wash- 
house  and  dairy.  The  situation  is  high,  utterly  bleak,  and  swept  by 
all  the  winds.  Not  a  tree  shelters  the  premises;  the  fences  arc  low, 
the  wind  permitting  nothing  to  grow  but  stunted  thorn.  The  view 
alone  redeems  the  dreariness  of  the  situation.  On  the  left  is  the 
great  hill  of  Burnswark.  Broad  Annandale  stretches  in  front  down 
to  the  Solway,  which  shines  like  a  long  silver  riband ;  on  the  right 
is  Hoddam  Hill,  with  the  Tower  of  Repentance  on  its  crest,  and  the 
wooded  slopes  which  mark  the  line  of  the  river.  Beyond  towers  up 
Criffel,  and  in  the  far  distance  Skiddaw,  and  Saddleback,  and  Hel- 
vellyn,  and  the  high  Cumberland  ridges  on  the  track  of  the  Roman 
wall.  Here  lived  Carlyle's  father  and  mother  with  their  eight  chil- 
dren, Carlyle  himself  spending  his  holidays  with  them;  the  old  man 
and  his  younger  sons  cultivating  the  sour  soil  and  winning  a  hard- 
earned  living  out  of  their  toil,  the  mother  and  daughters  doing  the 
household  work  and  minding  cows  and  poultry,  and  taking  their 
turn  in  the  field  with  the  rest  in  harvest  time. 

So  two  years  passed  away ;  Carlyle  remaining  at  Annan.  Of  his 
own  writing  during  this  period  there  is  little  preserved,  but  his  cor- 
respondence continued,  and  from  his  friends'  letters  glimpses  can 
be  gathered  of  his  temper  and  occupations.  He  was  mainly  busy 
with  mathematics,  but  he  was  reading  incessantly,  Hume's  Essays 
among  other  books.  He  was  looking  out  into  the  world,  meditating 
on  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  on  the  French  Revolution,  and  thinking 
much  of  the  suffering  in  Scotland  which  followed  the  close  of  the 
war.  There  were  sarcastic  sketches,  too,  of  the  families  with  which 
he  was  thrown  in  Annan.  Robert  Mitchell  (an  Edinburgh  student 
who  had  become  master  of  a  school  at  Ruthwell)  rallies  him  on 
"having  reduced  the  fair  and  fat  academicians  into  scorched,  singed, 
and  shrivelled  hags;"  and  hinting  a  warning  "against  the  temper 
with  respect  to  this  world  which  we  are  sometimes  apt  to  entertain," 
lie  suggests  that  young  men  like  him  and  his  correspondent ' '  ought 
to  think  how  many  are  worse  off  than  they,"  "should  be  thank- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  21 

ful  for  what  they  had,  and  not  allow  imagination  to  create  unreal 
distress." 

To  another  friend,  Thomas  Murray,  author  afterwards  of  a  history 
of  Galloway,  Carlyle  had  complained  of  his  fate  in  a  light  and  less 
bitter  spirit.  To  an  epistle  written  in  this  tone  Murray  replied  with 
a  description  of  Carlyle's  style,  which  deserves  a  place  if  but  for  the 
fulfilment  of  the  prophecy  which  it  contains : 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving,  my  dear  Carlyle,  your 
very  humorous  and  friendly  letter,  a  letter  remarkable  for  vivacity, 
a  Shaudean  turn  of  expression,  and  an  affectionate  pathos,  which 
indicate  a  peculiar  turn  of  mind,  make  sincerity  doubly  striking  and 
wit  doubly  poignant.  You  flatter  me  with  saying  my  letter  was 
good ;  but  allow  me  to  observe  that  among  all  my  elegant  and  re- 
spectable correspondents  there  is  none  whose  manner  of  letter- writ- 
ing I  so  much  envy  as  yours.  A  happy  flow  of  language  either  for 
pathos,  description,  or  humor,  and  an  easy,  graceful  current  of  ideas 
appropriate  to  every  subject,  characterize  your  style.  This  is  not 
adulation ;  I  speak  what  I  think.  Your  letters  will  always  be  a  feast 
to  me,  a  varied  and  exquisite  repast;  and  the  time,  I  hope,  will 
come,  but  I  trust  is  far  distant,  when  these  our  juvenile  epistles  will 
be  read  and  probably  applauded  by  a  generation  unborn,  and  that 
the  name  of  Carlyle,  at  least,  will  be  inseparably  connected  with  the 
literary  history  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Generous  ambition  and 
perseverance  will  overcome  every  difficulty,  and  our  great  Johnson 
says,  '  Where  much  is  attempted  something  is  performed. '  You 
will,  perhaps,  recollect  that  when  I  conveyed  you  out  of  town  in 
April,  1814,  we  were  very  sentimental:  we  said  that  few  knew  us, 
and  still  fewer  took  an  interest  in  us,  and  that  we  would  slip  through 
the  world  inglorious  and  unknown.  But  the  prospect  is  altered. 
We  are  probably  as  well  known,  and  have  made  as  great  a  figure, 
as  any  of  the  same  standing  at  college,  and  we  do  not  know,  but 
will  hope,  what  twenty  years  may  bring  forth. 

"A  letter  from  you  every  fortnight  shall  be  answered  faithfully, 
and  will  be  highly  delightful ;  and  if  we  live  to  be  seniors,  the  letters 
of  the  companions  of  our  youth  will  call  to  mind  our  college  scenes, 
endeared  to  us  by  many  tender  associations,  and  will  make  us  for- 

fet  that  we  are  poor  and  old.  .  .  .  That  you  may  be  always  success- 
ill  and  enjoy  every  happiness  that  this  evanescent  world  can  af- 
ford, and  that  we  may  meet  soon,  is,  my  dear  Carlyle,  the  sincere 
wish  of  Yours  most  faithfully, 

"THOMAS  MURRAY. 

"5  Carnegie  Street:  July  27, 1814." 

Murray  kept  Carlyle's  answer  to  this  far-seeing  letter : 

Thomas  Carl  vie  to  Thomas  Murray. 

"  August,  1814. 

"Oh,  Tom,  what  a  foolish  flattering  creature  thou  art!  To  talk  of 
future  eminence  in  connection  with  the  literary  history  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  to  such  a  one  as  me !  Alas !  my  good  lad,  when  I  and 
all  my  fancies  and  reveries  and  speculations  shall  have  been  swept 


22  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

over  with  the  besom  of  oblivion,  the  literary  history  of  no  century 
will  feel  itself  the  worse.  Yet  think  not,  because  I  talk  thus,  I  am 
careless  of  literary  fame.  No ;  Heaven  knows  that  ever  since  I  have 
been  able  to  form  a  wish,  the  wish  of  being  known  has  been  the 
foremost. 

"  Oh,  Fortune!  thou  that  givest  unto  each  his  portion  in  this  dirty 
planet,  bestow  (if  it  shall  please  thee)  coronets,  and  crowns,  and  prin- 
cipalities, and  purses,  and  pudding,  and  powers  upon  the  great  and 
noble  and  fat  ones  of  the  earth.  Grant  me  that,  with  a  heart  of  in- 
dependence unyielding  to  thy  favors  and  unbending  to  thy  frowns, 
I  may  attain  to  literary  fame  ;  and  though  starvation  be  my  lot,  I 
will  smile  that  I  have  not  been  born  a  king. 

"But  alas!  my  dear  Murray,  what  am  I,  or  what  are  you,  or  what 
is  any  other  poor  unfriended  stripling  in  the  ranks  of  learning?" 

These  college  companions  were  worthy  and  innocent  young  men ; 
none  of  them,  however,  came  to  any  high  position,  and  Carlyle's  ca- 
reer was  now  about  to  intersect  with  the  life  of  a  far  more  famous 
contemporary,  who  flamed  up  a  few  years  later  into  meridian  splen- 
dor and  then  disappeared  in  delirium.  Edward  Irving  was  the  son 
of  a  well-to-do  burgess  of  Annan,  by  profession  a  tanner.  Irving 
was  five  years  older  than  Carlyle  ;  he  had  preceded  him  at  Annan 
School ;  he  had  gone  thence  to  Edinburgh  University,  where  he  had 
specially  distinguished  himself,  and  had  been  selected  afterwards  to 
manage  a  school  at  Haddington,  where  his  success  as  a  teacher  had 
been  again  conspicuous.  Among  his  pupils  at  Haddington  there 
was  one  gifted  little  girl  who  will  be  hereafter  much  heard  of  in 
these  pages,  Jane  Baillie  Welsh,  daughter  of  a  Dr.  "Welsh  whose  sur- 
gical fame  was  then  great  in  that  part  of  Scotland,  a  remarkable 
man,  who  liked  Irving  and  trusted  his  only  child  in  his  hands.  The 
Haddington  adventure  had  answered  so  well  that  Irving,  after  a  year 
or  two,  was  removed  to  a  larger  school  at  Kirkcaldy,  where,  though 
no  fault  was  found  with  his  teaching,  he  gave  less  complete  satisfac- 
tion. A  party  among  his  patrons  there  thought  him  too  severe  with 
the  boys,  thought  him  proud,  thought  him  this  or  that  which  they 
did  not  like.  The  dissentients  resolved  at  last  to  have  a  second 
school  of  their  own,  to  be  managed  in  a  different  style,  and  they  ap- 
plied to  the  classical  and  mathematical  professors  at  Edinburgh  to 
recommend  them  a  master.  Professor  Christieson  and  Professor 
Leslie'  who  had  noticed  Carlyle  more  than  he  was  aware  of,  had  de- 
cided that  he  was  the  fittest  person  that  they  knew  of ;  and  in  the 
summer  of  1816  notice  of  the  offered  preferment  was  sent  down  to 
him  at  Annan. 

He  had  seen  Irving's  face  occasionally  in  Ecclefechan  church,  and 
once  afterwards,  as  has  been  said,  when  Irving,  fresh  from  his  college 
distinctions,  had  looked  in  at  Annan  School;  but  they  had  no  per- 
sonal acquaintance,  nor  did  Carlyle,  while  he  was  a  master  there, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  23 

ever  visit  the  Irving  family.  Of  course,  however,  he  was  no  stran- 
ger to  the  reputation  of  their  brilliant  son,  with  whose  fame  all  An- 
nandale  was  ringing,  and  with  whom  kind  friends  had  compared 
him  to  his  own  disadvantage. 

"I  [he  says]  had  heard  much  of  Irving  all  along,  hcrvtf  distin- 
guished in  studies,  how  splendidly  successful  as  a  teacher,  how  two 
professors  had  sent  him  out  to  Haddington,  and  how  his  new  acad- 
emy and  new  methods  were  illuminating  and  astonishing  everything 
there.  I  don't  remember  any  malicious  envy  towards  this  great 
Irving  of  the  distance  for  his  greatness  in  study  and  learning.  I  cer- 
tainly might  have  had  a  tendency  hadn't  I  struggled  against  it,  and 
tried  to  make  it  emulation.  '  Do  the  like,  do  the  like  under  difficul- 
ties.1" 

In  the  winter  of  1815  Carlyle  for  the  first  time  personally  met  Ir- 
ving, and  the  beginning  of  the  acquaintance  was  not  promising.  He 
was  still  pursuing  his  Divinity  course.  Candidates  who  could  not 
attend  the  regular  lectures  at  the  University  came  up  once  a  year 
and  delivered  an  address  of  some  kind  in  the  Divinity  Hall.  One 
already  he  had  given  the  first  year  of  his  Annan  mastership — an 
English  sermon  on  the  text  "Before  I  was  afflicted  I  went  astray," 
etc.  He  calls  it  "a  weak,  flowery,  sentimental  piece,"  for  which, 
however,  he  had  been  complimented  "by  comrades  and  professors." 
His  next  was  a  discourse  in  Latin  on  the  question  whether  there  wag 
or  was  not  such  a  thing  as  "Natural  Religion."  This,  too,  he  says 
was  ' '  weak  enough. "  It  is  lost,  and  nothing  is  left  to  show  the  view 
which  he  took  about  the  matter.  But  here  also  he  gave  satisfaction, 
and  was  innocently  pleased  with  himself.  It  was  on  this  occasion 
that  he  fell  in  accidentally  with  Irving  at  a  friend's  rooms  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  there  was  a  trifling  skirmish  of  tongue  between  them, 
where  Irving  found  the  laugh  turned  against  him. 

A  few  months  after  came  Carlyle's  appointment  to  Kirkcaldy  as 
Irving's  quasi  rival,  and  perhaps  he  felt  a  little  uneasy  as  to  the 
terms  on  which  they  might  stand  towards  each  other.  His  alarms, 
however,  were  pleasantly  dispelled.  He  was  to  go  to  Kirkcaldy  in 
the  summer  holidays  of  1816  to  see  the  people  there  and  be  seen  by 
them,  before  coming  to  a  final  arrangement  with  them.  Adam  Hope, 
one  of  the  masters  in  Annan  School,  to  whom  Carlyle  was  much 
attached,  and  whose  portrait  he  has  painted,  had  just  lost  his  wife. 
Carlyle  had  gone  to  sit  with  the  old  man  in  his  sorrows,  and  unex- 
pectedly fell  in  with  Irving  there,  who  had  come  on  the  same  errand. 

"If  [he  says]  I  had  been  in  doubts  about  his  reception  of  me, 
he  quickly  and  forever  ended  them  by  a  friendliness  which  on  wider 
scenes  might  have  been  called  chivalrous.  At  first  sight  he  heartily 
shook  my  hand,  welcomed  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  valued  old  acquaint- 
ance, almost  a  brother,  and  before  my  leaving  came  up  to  me  again 


34  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  with  the  frankest  tone  said,  '  You  are  coming  to  Kirkcaldy  to 
look  about  you  in  a  month  or  two.  You  know  I  am  there  ;  my 
house  and  all  that  I  can  do  for  you  is  yours;  two  Aunandale  peo- 
ple must  not  be  strangers  in  Fife. '  The  doubting  Thomas  durst  not 
quite  believe  all  this,  so  chivalrous  was  it,  but  felt  pleased  and  re- 
lieved by  the  fine  and  sincere  tone  of  it,  and  thought  to  himself, 
'  Well,  it  would  be  pretty.'  " 

To  Kirkcaldy,  then,  Carlyle  went  with  hopes  so  far  improved. 
How  Irving  kept  his  word ;  how  warmly  he  received  him ;  how  he 
opened  his  house,  his  library,  his  heart  to  him ;  how  they  walked 
and  talked  together  on  Kirkcaldy  Sands  on  the  summer  nights,  and 
toured  together  in  holiday  time  through  the  Highlands ;  how  Car- 
lyle found  in  him  a  most  precious  and  affectionate  companion  at 
the  most  critical  period  of  his  life — all  this  he  has  himself  described. 
The  reader  will  find  it  for  himself  in  the  Reminiscences  which  he 
has  left  of  the  time. 

"Irving  [he  says]  was  four  years  my  senior,  the  facile  princeps 
for  success  and  reputation  among  the  Edinburgh  students,  famed 
mathematician,  famed  teacher,  first  at  Haddington,  then  here,  a 
flourishing  man  whom  cross  fortune  was  beginning  to  nibble  at.  He 
received  me  with  open  arms,  and  was  a  brother  to  me  and  a  friend 
there  and  elsewhere  afterwards — such  friend  as  I  never  had  again  or 
before  in  this  world,  at  heart  constant  till  he  died, " 

I  am  tempted  to  fill  many  pages  with  extracted  pictures  of  the 
Kirkcaldy  life  as  Carlyle  has  drawn  them.  But  they  can  be  read 
in  their  place,  and  there  is  much  else  to  tell;  my  business  is  to  sup- 
ply what  is  left  untold,  rather  than  give  over  again  what  has  been 
told  already. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A.D.  1817.    ^:T.  22. 

CORRESPONDENCE  with  his  family  had  commenced  and  was  regu- 
larly continued  from  the  day  when  Carlyle  went  first  to  college. 
The  letters,  however,  which  are  preserved  begin  with  his  settlement 
at  Kirkcaldy.  From  this  time  they  are  constant,  regular,  and,  from 
the  care  with  which  they  have  been  kept  on  both  sides,  are  to  be 
numbered  in  thousands.  Father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  all  wrote 
in  their  various  styles,  and  all  received  answers.  They  were  "a 
clannish  folk  "  holding  tight  together,  and  Carlyle  was  looked  up  to 
as  the  scholar  among  them.  Of  these  letters  I  can  give  but  a  few 
here  and  there,  but  they  will  bring  before  the  eyes  the  Mainhill  farm, 
and  all  that  was  going  on  there  in  a  sturdy,  pious,  and  honorable 
Annandale  peasant's  household.  Carlyle  had  spent  his  Christmas 
holidays  1816-17  at  home  as  usual,  and  had  returned  to  work: 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  25 

James  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  Mainhill :  February  12,  1817. 

"  Dear  Son, — I  embrace  this  opportunity  of  writing  you  a  few 
lines  with  the  carrier,  as  I  had  nothing  to  say  that  was  worth  post- 
age, having  written  to  you  largely  the  last  time.  But  only  I  have 
reason  to  be  thankful  that  I  can  still  tell  you  that  we  are  all  in  good 
health,  blessed  be  God  for  all  his  mercies  towards  us.  Your  mother 
has  got  your  stockings  ready  now,  and  I  think  there  are  a  few  pairs 
of  very  good  ones.  Times  is  very  bad  here  for  laborers — work  is 
no  brisker  and  living  is  high.  There  have  been  meetings  held  by 
the  lairds  and  farmers  to  assist  them  in  getting  meal.  They  pro- 
pose to  take  all  the  meal  that  can  be  sold  in  the  parish  to  Eccle- 
fechan,  for  which  they  shall  have  full  price,  and  there  they  sign  an- 
other paper  telling  how  much  money  they  will  give  to  reduce  the 
price.  The  charge  is  given  to  James  Bell,  Mr.  Miller,  and  William 
Graham  to  sell  it. 

"  Mr.  Lawson,  our  priest,  is  doing  very  well,  and  has  given  us  no 
more  paraphrases;  but  seems  to  please  every  person  that  hears  him, 
and  indeed  he  is  well  attended  every  day.  The  sacrament  is  to  be 
the  first  Sabbath  of  March,  and  he  is  visiting  his  people,  but  has  not 
reached  Mainhill.  Your  mother  was  very  anxious  to  have  the  house 
done  before  he  came,  or  else  she  said  she  would  run  over  the  hill  and 
hide  herself.  Sandy1  and  I  got  to  work  soon  after  you  went  away, 
built  partitions,  and  ceiled — a  good  floor  laid — and  indeed  it  is  very 
dry  and  comfortable  at  this  time,  and  we  are  very  snug  and  have  no 
want  of  the  necessaries  of  life.  Our  crop  is  as  good  as  I  expected, 
and  our  sheep  and  all  our  cattle  living  and  doing  very  well.  Your 
mother  thought  to  have  written  to  you;  but  the  carrier  stopped  only 
two  days  at  home,  and  she  being  a  very  slow  writer  could  not  get  it 
done,  but  she  will  write  next  opportunity.  I  add  no  more  but  your 
mother's  compliments,  and  she  sends  you  half  the  cheese  that  she 
was  telling  you  about.  Say  in  your  next  how  your  butter  is  coming 
on,  and  tell  us  when  it  is  done  and  we  will  send  you  more.  Write 
soon  after  you  receive  this,  and  tell  us  all  your  news  and  how  you 
are  coming  on.  I  say  no  more,  but  remain, 

"Dear  son, your  loving  father, 

"JAMES  CARLYLE." 

TJiomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle  (Mainhill}, 

"Kirkcaldy:  March  17,  1817. 

"  My  dear  Mother, — I  have  been  long  intending  to  write  3-011  a 
line  of  two  in  order  to  let  you  know  my  state  and  condition,  but 
having  nothing  worth  writing  to  communicate  I  have  put  it  off  from 
time  to  time.  There  was  little  enjoyment  for  any  person  at  Main- 
hill  when  I  was  there  last,  but  I  look  forward  to  the  ensuing  autumn, 
when  I  hope  to  have  the  happiness  of  discussing  matters  with  you  as 
we  were  wont  to  do  of  old.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  hear  that  the 
bairns  are  at  school.  There  are  few  things  in  this  world  more  val- 
uable than  knowledge,  and  youth  is  the  period  for  acquiring  it.  With 

'  Alexander  Carlyle,  tho  second  son. 


26  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

the  exception  of  the  religious  and  moral  instruction  which  I  had  the 
happiness  of  receiving  from  my  parents,  and  which  I  humbly  trust 
will  not  be  entirely  lost  upon  me,  there  is  nothing  for  which  I  feel 
more  grateful  than  for  the  education  which  they  have  bestowed 
upon  me.  Sandy  was  getting  fond  of  reading  when  he  went  away. 
I  hope  he  and  Aitken1  will  continue  their  operations  now  that  he  is 
at  home.  There  cannot  be  imagined  ?  more  honest  way  of  employ- 
ing spare  hours. 

"  My  way  of  life  in  this  place  is  much  the  same  as  formerly.  The 
school  is  doing  pretty  well,  and  my  health  through  the  winter  has 
been  uniformly  good.  I  have  little  intercourse  with  the  natives 
here ;  yet  there  is  no  dryness  between  us.  We  are  always  happy  to 
meet  and  happy  to  part ;  but  their  society  is  not  very  valuable  to 
me,  and  my  books  are  friends  that  never  fail  me.  Sometimes  I  see 
the  minister  and  some  others  of  them,  with  whom  I  am  very  well 
satisfied,  and  Irving  and  I  are  very  friendly;  so  I  am  never  wearied 
or  at  a  loss  to  pass  the  time. 

"I  had  designed  this  night  to  write  to  Aitken  about  his  books 
and  studies,  but  I  will  scarcely  have  time  to  say  anything.  There 
is  a  book  for  him  in  the  box,  and  I  would  have  sent  him  the  geome- 
try, but  it  was  not  to  be  had  in  the  town.  I  have  sent  you  a  scarf 
as  near  the  kind  as  Aitken's  very  scanty  description  would  allow  me 
to  come.  I  hope  it  will  please  you.  It  is  as  good  as  any  that  the 
merchant  had.  A  shawl  of  the  same  materials  would  have  been 
warmer,  but  I  had  no  authority  to  get  it.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  have  a  shawl  also.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  color  you  prefer,  I 
will  send  it  you  with  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  I  expect  to  hear 
from  you  as  soon  as  you  can  find  leisure.  You  must  be  very  minute 
in  your  account  of  your  domestic  affairs.  My  father  once  spoke 
of  a  thrashing-machine.  If  201.  or  so  will  help  him,  they  are  quite 
ready  at  his  service. 

' '  I  remain,  dear  mother,  your  affectionate  son, 

"THOMAS  CARLYLE." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  could  barely  write  at  this  time.  She  taught  herself 
later  in  life  for  the  pleasure  of  communicating  with  her  son,  between 
whom  and  herself  there  existed  a  special  and  passionate  attachment 
of  a  quite  peculiar  kind.  She  was  a  severe  Calvinist,  and  watched 
with  the  most  affectionate  anxiety  over  her  children's  spiritual  wel- 
fare, her  eldest  boy's  above  all.  The  hope  of  her  life  was  to  see  him 
a  minister — a  "priest"  she  would  have  called  it — and  she  was  al- 
ready alarmed  to  know  that  he  had  no  inclination  that  way: 

Mrs.  Carlyle  to  TJiomas  Carlyle. 

"Mainhill:  June  10,1817. 

"Dear  Son, — I  take  this  opportunity  of  writing  you  a  few  lines, 
as  you  will  get  it  free.  I  long  to  have  a  craik,2  and  look  forward  to 
August,  trusting  to  see  thee  once  more,  but  in  hope  the  meantime. 

1  John  Aitken  Carlyle,  the  third  son,  afterwards  known  as  John. 

2  Familiar  talk. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  27 

Oh,  Tom,  mind  the  golden  season  of  youth,  and  remember  your  Crea- 
tor in  the'  days  of  your  youth.  Seek  God  while  He  may  be  found. 
Call  upon  Him  while  He  is  near.  We  hear  that  the  world  by  wis- 
dom knew  not  God.  Pray  for  His  presence  with  you,  and  His  coun- 
sel to  guide  you.  Have  you  got  through  the  Bible  yet  ?  If  you 
have,  read  it  again.  I  hope  you  will  not  weary,  and  may  the  Lord 
open  your  understanding. 

"  I  have  no  news  to  tell  you,  but  thank  God  we  are  all  in  an  ordi- 
nary way.  I  hope  you  are  well.  I  thought  you  would  have  writ- 
ten before  now.  I  received  your  present  and  was  very  proud  of  it. 
I  called  it  '  my  son's  venison. '  Do  write  as  soon  as  this  conies  to 
hand  and  tell  us  all  your  news.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  contented  in 
your  place.  We  ought  all  to  be  thankful  for  our  places  in  these  dis- 
tressing times,  for  I  dare  say  they  are  felt  keenly.  We  send  you  a 
small  piece  of  ham  and  a  minding  of  butter,  as  I  am  sure  yours  is 
done  before  now.  Tell  us  about  it  in  your  next,  and  if  anything  is 
wanting. 

"  Good-night,  Tom,  for  it  is  a  very  stormy  night,  and  I  must  away 
to  the  byre  to  milk. 

"Now,  Tom,  be  sure  to  tell  me  about  your  chapters.  No  more 
from  YOUR  OLD  MINNIE." 

The  letters  from  the  other  members  of  the  family  were  sent  equally 
regularly  whenever  there  was  an  opportunity,  and  give  between  them 
a  perfect  picture  of  healthy  rustic  life  at  the  Mainhill  farm — the 
brothers  and  sisters  down  to  the  lowest  all  hard  at  work,  the  little 
ones  at  school,  the  elders  ploughing,  reaping,  tending  cattle,  or  mind- 
ing the  dairy,  and  in  the  intervals  reading  history,  reading  Scott's 
novels,  or  even  trying  at  geometry,  which  was  then  Carlyle's  own 
favorite  study.  In  the  summer  of  1817  the  mother  had  a  severe  ill- 
ness, by  which  her  mind  was  affected.  It  was  necessary  to  place 
her  for  a  few  weeks  under  restraint  away  from  home — a  step  no 
doubt  just  and  necessary,  but  which  she  never  wholly  forgave,  but 
resented  in  her  own  humorous  way  to  the  end  of  her  life.  The  dis- 
order soon  passed  off,  however,  and  never  returned. 

Meanwhile  Carlyle  was  less  completely  contented  with  his  posi- 
tion at  Kirkcaldy  than  he  had  let  his  mother  suppose.  For  one 
thing  he  hated  school-mastering,  and  would,  or  thought  he  would, 
have  preferred  to  work  with  his  hands,  while  except  Irving  he  had 
scarcely  a  friend  in  the  place  for  whom  he  cared.  His  occupation 
shut  him  out  from  the  best  kind  of  society,  which  there,  as  elsewhere, 
had  its  exclusive  rules.  He  was  received,  for  Irving's  sake,  in  the 
family  of  Mr.  Martin,  the  minister;  and  was  in  some  degree  of  inti- 
macy there,  liking  Martin  himself,  and  to  some  extent,  but  not  much, 
his  wife  and  daughters,  to  one  of  whom  Irving  had,  perhaps  too  pre- 
cipitately, become  engaged.  There  were  others  also — Mr.  Swan,  a 
Kirkcaldy  merchant,  particularly — for  whom  he  had  a  grateful  re- 
membrance ;  but  it  is  clear,  both  from  Irving's  letters  to  him  and 


28  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

from  his  own  confession,  that  he  was  not  popular  either  there  or  any- 
where. Shy  and  reserved  at  one  moment,  at  another  sarcastically 
self -asserting,  with  forces  working  in  him  which  he  did  not  himself 
understand,  and  which  still  less  could  be  understood  by  others,  he 
could  neither  properly  accommodate  himself  to  the  tone  of  Scotch 
provincial  drawing-rooms,  nor  even  to  the  business  which  he  had 
especially  to  do.  A  man  of  genius  can  do  the  lowest  work  as  well 
as  the  highest;  but  genius  in  the  process  of  developing,  combined 
with  an  irritable  nervous  system  and  a  fiercely  impatient  tempera- 
ment, was  not  happily  occupied  in  teaching  stupid  lads  the  elements 
of  Latin  and  arithmetic.  Nor  were  matters  mended  when  the  Town 
Corporation,  who  were  his  masters,  took  upon  them,  as  sometimes 
happened,  to  instruct  or  rebuke  him. 

Life,  however,  even  under  these  hard  circumstances,  was  not  with- 
out its  romance.  I  borrow  a  passage  from  the  ' '  Reminiscences :" 

"The  Kirkcaldy  people  were  a  pleasant,  solid,  honest  kind  of  fel- 
low mortals,  something  of  quietly  fruitful,  of  good  old  Scotch  in 
their  works  and  ways,  more  vernacular,  peaceably  fixed  and  almost 
genial  in  their  mode  of  life,  than  I  had  been  used  to  in  the  border 
home  land.  Fife  generally  we  liked.  Those  ancient  little  burghs 
and  sea  villages,  with  their  poor  little  havens,  salt-pans  and  weather- 
beaten  bits  of  Cyclopean  breakwaters,  and  rude  innocent  machiner- 
ies, are  still  kindly  to  me  to  think  of.  Kirkcaldy  itself  had  many 
looms,  had  Baltic  trade,  whale  fishery,  etc.,  and  was  a  solidly  dili- 
gent and  yet  by  no  means  a  panting,  puffing,  or  in  any  way  gam- 
bling '  Lang  Town.'  Its  flax-mill  machinery,  I  remember,  was  turn- 
ed mainly  by  wind;  and  curious  blue-painted  wheels  with  oblique 
vanes  rose  from  many  roofs  for  that  end.  We  all,  I  in  particular, 
always  rather  liked  the  people,  though  from  the  distance  chiefly, 
chagrined  and  discouraged  by  the  sad  trade  one  had.  Some  hos- 
pitable human  friends  I  found,  and  these  were  at  intervals  a  fine  lit- 
tle element ;  but  in  general  we  were  but  onlookers,  the  one  real  so- 
ciety our  books  and  our  few  selves.  Not  even  with  the  bright  young 
ladies  (which  was  a  sad  feature)  were  we  generally  on  speaking 
terms.  By  far  the  brightest  and  cleverest,  however,  an  ex-pupil  of 
Irving's,  and  genealogically  and  otherwise,  being  poorish  and  well- 
bred,  rather  an  alien  in  Kirkcaldy,  I  did  at  last  make  some  acquaint- 
ance with — at  Irving's  first,  I  think,  though  she  rarely  came  thither 
— and  it  might  easily  have  been  more,  had  she  and  her  aunt  and  our 
economics  and  other  circumstances  liked.  She  was  of  the  fair-com- 
plexioned,  softly  elegant,  softly  grave,  witty  and  comely  type,  and  had 
a  good  deal  of  gracefulness,  intelligence,  and  other  talent.  Irving, 
too,  it  was  sometimes  thought,  found  her  very  interesting,  could 
the  Miss  Martin  bonds  have  allowed,  which  they  never  would.  To 
me,  who  had  only  known  her  for  a  few  months,  and  who  within  a 
twelve  or  fifteen  months  saw  the  last  of  her,  she  continued,  for  per- 
haps three  years,  a  figure  hanging  more  or  less  in  my  fancy,  on  the 
usual  romantic,  or  latterly  quite  elegiac  and  silent  terms,  and  to  this 
day  there  is  in  me  a  good  will  to  her,  a  candid  and  gentle  pity,  if 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  29 

needed  at  all.  She  was  of  the  Aberdeenshire  Gordons.  Margaret 
Gordon,  born  I  think  in  New  Brunswick,  where  her  father,  probably 
iii  some  official  post,  had  died  young  and  poor ;  but  her  accent  was 
prettily  English,  and  her  voice  very  fine. 

' '  An  aunt  (widow  in  Fife,  childless  with  limited  resources,  but  of 
frugal  cultivated  turn ;  a  lean,  proud,  elderly  dame,  once  a  Miss 
Gordon  herself ;  sung  Scotch  songs  beautifully,  and  talked  shrewd 
Aberdeenish  in  accent  and  otherwise)  had  adopted  her  and  brought 
her  hither  over  seas ;  and  here,  as  Irving's  ex-pupil,  she  now,  cheery 
though  with  dim  outlooks,  was.  Irving  saw  her  again  in  Glasgow 
one  .summer's  touring,  etc. ;  he  himself  accompanying  joyfully — not 
joining,  so  I  understood,  in  the  retinue  of  suitors  or  potential  suitors; 
rather  perhaps  indicating  gently  '  No,  I  must  not.'  A  year  or  so  af- 
ter we  heard  the  fair  Margaret  had  married  some  rich  Mr.  Something, 
who  afterwards  got  into  Parliament,  thence  out  to  '  Nova  Scotia '  (or 
so)  as  governor,  and  I  heard  of  her  no  more,  except  that  lately  she 
was  still  living  childless  as  the  'dowager  lady, 'her  Mr.  Something 
having  got  knighted  before  dying.  Poor  Margaret !  I  saw  her  rec- 
ognizable to  me  here  in  her  London  time,  1840  or  so,  twice ;  once 
witli  her  maid  in  Piccadilly  promenading — little  altered;  a  second 
time  that  same  year,  or  next,  on  horseback  both  of  us,  and  meeting 
in  the  gate  of  Hyde  Park,  when  her  eyes  (but  that  was  all)  said  to 
me  almost  touchingly,  yes,  yes,  that  is  you." 

Margaret  Gordon  was  the  original,  so  far  as  there  was  an  original, 
of  Blumine  in  "Sartor  Resartus."  Two  letters  from  her  remain 
among  Carlyle's  papers,  which  show  that  on  both  sides  their  regard 
for  each  other  had  found  expression.  Circumstances,  however,  and 
the  unpromising  appearance  of  Carlyle's  situation  and  prospects, 
forbade  an  engagement  between  them,  and  acquit  the  aunt  of  need- 
less harshness  in  peremptorily  putting  an  end  to  their  acquaintance. 
Miss  Gordon  took  leave  of  him  as  a  "sister"  in  language  of  affec- 
tionate advice.  A  single  passage  may  be  quoted  to  show  how  the 
young  unknown  Kirkcaldy  school-master  appeared  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  high-born  lady  who  had  thus  for  a  moment  crossed  his 
path: 

"And  now,  my  dear  friend,  a  long,  long  adieu;  one  advice,  and  as 
a  parting  one  consider,  value  it.  Cultivate  the  milder  dispositions 
of  your  heart.  Subdue  the  more  extravagant  visions  of  the  brain. 
In  time  your  abilities  must  be  known.  Among  your  acquaintance 
they  are  already  beheld  with  wonder  and  delight.  By  those  whose 
opinion  will  be  valuable,  they  hereafter  will  be  appreciated.  Genius 
will  render  you  great.  May  virtue  render  you  beloved  !  Remove 
the  awful  distance  between  you  and  ordinary  men  by  kind  and  gen- 
tle manners.  Deal  gently  with  their  inferiority,  and  be  convinced 
they  will  respect  you  as  much  and  like  you  more.  Why  conceal  the 
real  goodness  that  flows  in  your  heart?  I  have  ventured  this  coun- 
sel from  an  anxiety  for  your  future  welfare,  and  I  would  enforce  it 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  the  most  sincere  friendship.  Let  your 


30  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

light  shine  before  men,  and  think  them  not  unworthy  the  trouble. 
This  exercise  will  prove  its  own  reward.  It  must  be  a  pleasing  thing 
to  live  in  the  affections  of  others.  Again  adieu.  Pardon  the  free- 
dom I  have  used,  and  when  you  think  of  me  be  it  as  a  kind  sister,  to 
whom  your  happiness  will  always  yield  delight,  and  your  griefs 
sorrow.  Yours,  with  esteem  and  regard,  M. 

"I  give  you  not  my  address  because  I  dare  not  promise  to  see 
you." 

CHAPTER  V. 

A.D.  1818.      ,-ET.  23. 

CAKLYLE  had  by  this  time  abandoned  the  thought  of  the  "min- 
istry" as  his  possible  future  profession — not  without  a  struggle,  for 
both  his  father's  and  his  mother's  hearts  had  been  set  upon  it;  but 
the  "grave  prohibitive  doubts  "  which  had  risen  in  him  of  their  own 
accord  had  been  strengthened  by  Gibbon,  whom  he  had  found  in 
Irving's  library  and  eagerly  devoured.  Never  at  any  time  had  he 
"the  least  inclination"  for  such  an  office,  and  his  father,  though 
deeply  disappointed,  was  too  genuine  a  man  to  offer  the  least  re- 
monstrance.1 The  "school-mastering"  too,  after  two  years'  expe- 
rience of  it,  became  intolerable.  His  disposition,  at  once  shy  and 
defiantly  proud,  had  perplexed  and  displeased  the  Kirkcaldy  burgh- 
ers. Both  he  and  Irving  also  fell  into  unpleasant  collisions  with 
them,  and  neither  of  the  two  was  sufficiently  docile  to  submit  tame- 
ly to  reproof.2  An  opposition  school  had  been  set  up  which  drew 

1  "With  me  [he  says  in  a  private  note]  it  was  never  much  in  favor,  though  my 
parents  silently  much  wished  it,  as  I  knew  well.    Finding  I  had  objections,  my  father, 
with  a  magnanimity  which  I  admired  and  admire,  left  me  frankly  to  my  own  guidance 
in  that  matter,  as  did  my  mother,  perhaps  still  more  lovingly,  though  not  so  silently; 
and  the  theological  course  which  could  be  prosecuted  or  kept  open  by  appearing  an- 
nually, putting  down  your  name,  but  with  some  trifling  fee,  in  the  register,  and  then 
going  your  way,  was,  after  perhaps  two  years  of  this  languid  form,  allowed  to  close  it- 
self for  good.     I  remember  yet  being  on  the  street  in  Argyll  Square,  Edinburgh,  prob- 
ably in  1817,  and  come  over  from  Kirkcaldy  with  some  intent,  the  languidest  possible, 
still  to  put  down  my  name  and  fee.   The  official  person,  when  I  rung,  was  not  at  homej 
and  my  instant  feeling  was,  '  Very  good,  then,  very  good ;  let  this  be  Finis  in  the  mat- 
ter,' and  it  really  was." 

2  Carlyle  says  in  the  "Reminiscences  "  that  Irving  was  accused  of  harshness  to  the 
boys.    Kirkcaldy  tradition  has  preserved  instances  of  it,  which  sound  comical  enough 
at  a  distance,  but  were  no  matter  of  laughter  to  the  sufferers.    A  correspondent  writes 
to  me:  "  Irving  has  the  reputation  to  this  day  of  being  a  very  hard  master.    He  thrash- 
ed the  boys  frequently  and  unmercifully.    A  story  in  illustration  was  told  me.    A  car- 
penter, a  bit  of  a  character,  whose  shop  was  directly  opposite  Irviug's  school,  hearing 
a  fearful  howling  one  day,  rushed  across,  axe  in  hand,  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  to 
Irving's  query  what  he  did  there,  replied,  'I  thocht  ye  were  killin'  the  lad,  and  cam' 
over  tae  see  if  ye  were  neediu'  help. '    Carlyle,  on  the  contrary,  I  was  assured,  never 
lifted  his  hand  to  a  scholar.    Still  he  had  perfect  command  over  them.     A  look  or  a 
word  was  sufficient  to  command  attention  and  obedience.    Nor  have  I  ever  heard  that 
this  command  was  attributable  to  fear.    So  far  as  I  can  learn,  it  was  entirely  due  to 
the  respect  which  he  seems  to  have  obtained  from  the  first."    There  is  snme  truth  in 
these  legends  of  Irving's  severity,  for  Carlyle  himself  admits  it.     But  tradition  always 
tends  to  shape  stories  and  characters  into  an  artistic  completeness  which  had  no  real 
existence.    The  authentic  evidence  of  Irving's  essential  kindness  and  affectionate  gen- 
tleness makes  it  impossible  to  believe  that  he  was  ever  wantonly  or  carelessly  cruel. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  31 

off  the  pupils,  and  finally  they  both  concluded  that  they  had  had 
enough  of  it — "better  die  than  be  a  school-master  for  one's  living" 
— and  would  seek  some  other  means  of  supporting  themselves.  Car- 
lyle  had  passed  his  summer  holidays  as  usual  at  Mainhill  (1818), 
where  he  had  perhaps  talked  over  his  prospects  with  his  familj*. 
On  his  return  to  Kirkcaldy  in  September  he  wrote  to  his  father  ex- 
plaining his  situation.  He  had  saved  about  90Z. ,  on  which,  with  his 
thrifty  habits,  he  said  that  he  could  support  himself  in  Edinburgh 
till  he  could  "fall  into  some  other  way  of  doing."  He  could  per- 
haps get  a  few  mathematical  pupils,  and  meantime  could  study  for 
the  Bar.  He  waited  only  for  his  father's  approval  to  send  in  his 
resignation.  The  letter  was  accompanied  by  one  of  his  constant 
presents  to  his  mother,  who  was  again  at  home  though  not  yet  fully 
recovered. 

John  Carlyle  to  Tlwmm  Canyle. 

"Mainhill:  September  1C,  1818. 

"Dear  Brother, — We  received  yours,  and  it  told  us  of  your  safe 
arrival  at  Kirkcaldy.  Our  mother  has  grown  better  every  day  since 
you  left  us.  She  is  as  steady  as  ever  she  was,  has  been  upon  hay- 
stacks Ihree  or  four  times,  and  has  been  at  church  every  Sabbath 
since  she  came  home,  behaving  always  very  decently.  Also  she  has 
given  over  talking  and  singing,  and  spends  some  of  her  time  con- 
sulting Ralph  Erskine.  She  sleeps  every  night,  and  hinders  no  per- 
son to  sleep,  but  can  do  with  less  than  the  generality  of  people.  In 
fact  we  may  conclude  that  she  is  as  wise  as  could  be  expected.  She 
has  none  of  the  hypocritical  mask  with  which  some  people  clothe 
their  sentiments.  One  day,  having  met  Agg  Byers,  she  says :  '  Weel, 
Agg,  lass,  I've  never  spoken  t'  ye  sin  ye  stole  our  coals.  I'll  gie  ye 
au  advice:  never  steal  nae  more.' " 

Alexander  Carlyle  to  Tliomas  Carlyle. 

"  September  18, 1818. 

"My  dear  Brother, — We  were  glad  to  hear  of  your  having  arrived 
in  safety,  though  your  prospects  were  not  brilliant.  My  father  is  at 
Ecclefechan  to-day  at  a  market,  but  before  he  went  he  told  me  to 
mention  that  with  regard  to  his  advising  you,  he  was  unable  to  give 
you  any  advice.  He  thought  it  might  be  necessary  to  consult  Leslie 
before  you  gave  up,  but  you  might  do  what  seemed  to  you  good. 
Had  my  advice  any  weight,  I  would  advise  you  to  try  the  law.  You 
may  think  you  have  not  money  enough  to  try  that,  but  with  what 
assistance  we  could  make,  and  your  own  industry,  I  think  there 
would  be  no  fear  but  you  would  succeed.  The  box  which  contained 
my  mother's  bonnet  came  a  day  or  two  ago.  She  is  very  well  pleased 
with  it,  though  my  father  thought  it  too  gaudy;  but  she  proposes 
writing  to  you  herself." 

The  end  was,  that  when  December  came  Carlyle  and  Irving 
"kicked  the  school-master  functions  over,"  removed  to  Edinburgh, 
and  were  adrift  on  the  world.  Irving  had  little  to  fear ;  he  had 


82  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

money,  friends,  reputation ;  he  had  a  profession,  and  was  waiting 
only  for  "a  call"  to  enter  on  his  full  privileges.  Carlyle  was  far 
more  unfavorably  situated.  He  was  poor,  unpopular,  comparatively 
unknown,  or,  if  known,  known  only  to  be  feared  and  even  shunned. 
In  Edinburgh  "from  my  fellow-creatures,"  he  says,  "little  or  noth- 
ing but  vinegar  was  my  reception  when  we  happened  to  meet  or  pass 
near  each  other — my  own  blame  mainly,  so  proud,  shy,  poor,  at  once 
so  insignificant-looking  and  so  grim  and  sorrowful.  That  in  '  Sartor ' 
of  the  worm  trodden  on  and  proving  a  torpedo  is  not  wholly  a  fable, 
but  did  actually  befall  once  or  twice,  as  I  still  with  a  kind  of  small, 
not  ungenial,  malice  can  remember."  He  had,  however,  as  was  said, 
nearly  a  hundred  pounds,  which  he  had  saved  out  of  his  earnings ; 
he  had  a  consciousness  of  integrity  worth  more  than  gold  to  him. 
He  had  thrifty  self-denying  habits  which  made  him  content  with  the 
barest  necessaries,  and  he  resolutely  faced  his  position.  His  family, 
though  silently  disapproving  the  step  which  he  had  taken,  and  nec- 
essarily anxious  about  him,  rendered  what  help  they  could.  Once 
more  the  Ecclef  echan  carrier  brought  up  the  weekly  or  monthly  sup- 
plies of  oatmeal,  cakes,  butter,  and,  when  needed,  under  -  garments, 
returning  with  the  dirty  linen  for  the  mother  to  wash  and  mend, 
and  occasional  presents  which  were  never  forgotten;  while  Carlyle, 
after  a  thought  of  civil  engineering,  for  which  his  mathematical 
training  gave  him  a  passing  inclination,  sat  down  seriously,  if  not 
very  assiduously,  to  study  law.  Letters  to  and  from  Ecclefechan 
were  constant,  the  carrier  acting  as  postman.  Selections  from  them 
bring  the  scene  and  characters  before  the  reader's  eyes. 
Sister  Mary,  then  twelve  years  old,  writes : 

"I  take  this  opportunity  of  sending  you  this  scrawl.  I  got  the 
hat  you  sent  with  Sandy  [brother  Alexander],  and  it  fits  very  well. 
It  was  far  too  good;  a  worse  would  have  done  very  well.  Boys  and 
I  are  employed  this  winter  in  waiting  on  the  cattle,  and  are  going  on 
very  well  at  present.  I  generally  write  a  copy  every  night,  and  read 
a  little  in  the  'Cottagers  of  Gleuburnie,'  or  some  such  like;  and  it 
shall  be  my  earnest  desire  never  to  imitate  the  abominable  slutteries 
of  Mrs.  Maclarty.  The  remarks  of  the  author,  Mrs.  Hamilton,  often 
bring  your  neat  ways  in  my  mind,  and  I  hope  to  be  benefited  by 
them.  In  the  mean  time,  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  a  good  girl,  to  be 
kind  and  obedient  to  my  parents,  and  obliging  to  my  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. You  will  write  me  a  long  letter  when  the  carrier  comes  back." 

The  mother  was  unwearied  in  her  affectionate  solicitude — solicitude 
for  the  eternal  as  well  as  temporal  interests  of  her  darling  child  : 

Mrs.  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Mainhill :  January  3,  1819. 

"Dear  Son, — I  received  yours  in  due  time,  and  was  glad  to  hear 
you  were  well.  I  hope  you  will  be  healthier,  moving  about  in  the 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  33 

city,  than  in  your  former  way.  Health  is  a  valuable  privilege  ;  try 
to  improve  it,  then.  The  time  is  short.  Another  year  has  com- 
menced. Time  is  on  the  wing,  and  flies  swiftly.  Seek  God  with 
all  your  heart ;  and  oh,  my  dear  son,  cease  not  to  pray  for  His 
counsel  in  all  your  ways.  Fear  not  the  world;  you  will  be  provided 
for  as  He  sees  meet  for  you. 

"  As  a  sincere  friend,  whom  you  are  always  dear  to,  I  beg  you  do 
not  neglect  reading  a  part  of  your  Bible  daily,  and  may  the  Lord 
open  your  eyes  to  see  wondrous  things  out  of  His  law!  But  it  is 
now  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  a  bad  pen,  bad  ink,  and  I  as 
bad  at  writing.  I  will  drop  it,  and  add  no  more,  but  remain 

"Your  loving  mother, 

"PEGGIE  CARLYLE." 

Carlyle  had  written  a  sermon  on  the  salutary  effects  of  "afflic- 
tion," as  his  first  exercise  in  the  Divinity  School.  He  was  beginning 
now,  in  addition  to  the  problem  of  living  which  he  had  to  solve,  to 
learn  what  affliction  meant.  He  was  attacked  with  dyspepsia,  which 
never  wholly  left  him,  and  in  these  early  years  soon  assumed  its  most 
torturing  form,  like  "a  rat  gnawing  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach." 
His  disorder  working  on  his  natural  irritability  found  escape  in 
expressions  which  showed,  at  any  rate,  that  he  was  attaining  a 
mastery  of  language.  The  pain  made  him  furious  ;  and  in  such  a 
humor  the  commonest  calamities  of  life  became  unbearable  horrors. 

"  I  find  living  here  very  high  [he  wrote  soon  after  he  was  settled 
in  his  lodgings]^  An  hour  ago  I  paid  my  week's  bill,  which,  though 
15s.  2d.,  was  the  smallest  of  the  three  I  have  yet  discharged.  This 
is  an  unreasonable  sum  when  I  consider  the  slender  accommodation 
and  the  paltry,  ill-cooked  morsel  which  is  my  daily  pittance.  There 
is  also  a  school-master  right  overhead,  whose  noisy  brats  give  me  at 
times  no  small  annoyance.  On  a  given  night  of  the  week  he  also 
assembles  a  select  number  of  vocal  performers,  whose  music,  as  they 
charitably  name  it,  is  now  and  then  so  clamorous  that  I  almost 
wished  the  throats  of  these  sweet  singers  full  of  molten  lead,  or  any 
other  substance  that  would  stop  their  braying." 

But  he  was  not  losing  heart,  and  liked,  so  far  as  he  had  seen  into 
it,  his  new  profession : 

"The  law  [he  told  his  mother]  is  what  I  sometimes  think  I 
was  intended  for  naturally.  I  am  afraid  it  takes  several  hundreds 
to  become  an  advocate;  but  for  this  I  should  commence  the  study 
of  it  with  great  hopes  of  success.  We  shall  see  whether  it  is  possi- 
ble. One  of  the  first  advocates  of  the  day  raised  himself  from  being 
a  disconsolate  preacher  to  his  present  eminence.  Therefore  I  en- 
treat you  not  to  be  uneasy  about  me.  I  see  none  of  my  fellows 
with  whom  I  am  very  anxious  to  change  places.  Tell  the  boys  not 
to  let  their  hearts  be  troubled  for  me.  I  am  a  stubborn  dog,  and 
evil  fortune  shall  not  break  my  heart  or  bend  it  either,  as  I  hope. 
I  know  not  how  to  speak  about  the  washing  which  you  offer  so 
kindly.  Surely  you  thought,  five  years  ago,  that  this  troublesome 


34  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

washing  and  baking  was  all  over ;  and  now  to  recommence !  I  can 
scarcely  think  of  troubling  you;  yet  the  clothes  are  ill -washed 
here ;  and  if  the  box  be  going  and  coming  any  way,  perhaps  you 
can  manage  it." 

While  law  lectures  were  being  attended,  the  difficulty  was  to  live. 
Pupils  were  a  not  very  effective  resource,  and  of  his  adventures  in 
this  department  Carlyle  gave  ridiculous  accounts.  In  February, 
1819,  he  wrote  to  his  brother  John : 

' '  About  a  week  ago  I  briefly  dismissed  an  hour  of  private  teach- 
ing. A  man  in  the  New  Town  applied  to  one  Nichol,  public  teacher 
of  mathematics  here,  for  a  person  to  give  instruction  in  arithmetic, 
or  something  of  that  sort.  Nichol  spoke  of  me,  and  I  was  in  con- 
sequence directed  to  call  on  the  man  next  morning.  I  went  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  after  waiting  for  a  few  minutes  was  met  by  a 
stout,  impudent-looking  man  with  red  whiskers,  having  much  the 
air  of  an  attorney,  or  some  such  creature  of  that  sort.  As  our  con- 
versation may  give  you  some  insight  into  these  matters,  I  report  the 
substance  of  it.  'I  am  here,'  I  said,  after  making  a  slight  bow, 
which  was  just  perceptibly  returned,  '  by  the  request  of  Mr.  Nichol, 
to  speak  with  you,  sir,  about  a  mathematical  teacher  whom  he  tells 
me  you  want.'  'Ay.  What  are  your  terms?'  'Two  guineas  a 
month  for  each  hour.'  'Two  guineas  a  month!  that  is  perfectly 
extravagant.'  'I  believe  it  to  be  the  rate  at  which  every  teacher  of 
respectability  in  Edinburgh  officiates,  and  I  know  it  to  be  the  rate 
below  which  I  never  officiate.'  'That  will  not  do  for  my  friend.' 
'  I  am  sorry  that  nothing  else  will  do  for  me ;'  and  I  retired  with 
considerable  deliberation." 

Other  attempts  were  not  so  unsuccessful ;  one,  sometimes  two, 
pupils  were  found  willing  to  pay  at  the  rate  required.  Dr.  Brewster, 
afterwards  Sir  David,  discovered  Carlyle,  and  gave  him  occasional 
employment  on  his  Encyclopaedia.  He  was  thus  able  to  earn,  as 
long  as  the  session  lasted,  about  two  pounds  a  week,  and  on  this  he 
contrived  to  live  without  trenching  on  his  capital.  His  chief  pleas- 
ure was  his  correspondence  with  his  mother,  which  never  slackened. 
She  had  written  to  tell  him  of  the  death  of  her  sister  Mary.  He 

replies : 

"Edinburgh:  Monday,  March  29, 1819. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  affec- 
tionate concern  which  you  express  for  me  in  that  long  letter  that  I 
cannot  delay  to  send  you  a  few  brief  words  by  way  of  reply.  I  was 
affected  by  the  short  notice  you  give  me  of  Aunt  Mary's  death,  and 
the  short  reflections  with  which  you  close  it.  It  is  true,  my  dear 
mother,  '  that  we  must  all  soon  follow  her, '  such  is  the  unalterable 
and  not  unpleasing  doom  of  men.  Then  it  is  well  for  those  who, 
at  that  awful  moment  which  is  before  every  one,  shall  be  able  to 
look  back  with  calmness  and  forward  with  hope.  But  I  need  not 
dwell  upon  this  solemn  subject.  It  is  familiar  to  the  thoughts  of 
every  one  who  has  any  thought. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  35 

"  I  am  rather  afraid  I  have  not  been  quite  regular  in  reading  that 
best  of  books  which  you  recommended  to  me.  However,  last  night 
I  was  reading  upon  my  favorite  Job,  and  I  hope  to  do  better  in  time 
to  come.  I  entreat  you  to  believe  that  I  am  sincerely  desirous  of 
being  a  good  man;  and  though  we  may  differ  in  some  few  unim- 
portant particulars,  yet  I  firmly  trust  that  the  same  power  which 
created  us  with  imperfect  faculties  will  pardon  the  errors  of  every 
one  (and  none  are  without  them)  who  seeks  truth  and  righteousness 
with  a  simple  heart. 

"You  need  not  fear  my  studying  too  much.  In  fact,  my  pros- 
pects are  so  unsettled  that  I  do  not  often  sit  down  to  books  with  all 
the  zeal  I  am  capable  of.  You  are  not  to  think  I  am  fretful.  I 
have  long  accustomed  my  mind  to  look  upon  the  future  with  a 
sedate  aspect,  and  at  any  rate  my  hopes  have  never  yet  failed  me. 
A  French  author,  D'Alembert  (one  of  the  few  persons  who  deserve 
the  honorable  epithet  of  honest  man),  whom  I  was  lately  reading, 
remarks  that  one  who  devoted  his  life  to  learning  ought  to  carry  for 
his  motto,  '  Liberty,  Truth,  Poverty, '  for  he  that  fears  the  latter  can 
never  have  the  former.  This  should  not  prevent  one  from  using 
every  honest  effort  to  attain  a  comfortable  situation  in  life  ;  it  says 
only  that  the  best  is  dearly  bought  by  base  conduct,  and  the  worst 
is  not  worth  mourning  over.  We  shall  speak  of  all  these  matters 
more  fully  in  summer,  for  I  am  meditating  just  now  to  come  down 
to  stay  a  while  with  you,  accompanied  with  a  cargo  of  books,  Ital- 
ian, German,  and  others.  You  will  give  me  yonder  little  room,  and 
you  will  waken  me  every  morning  about  five  or  six  o'clock.  Then 
such  study.  I  shall  delve  in  the  garden,  too,  and,  in  a  word,  become 
not  only  the  wisest  but  the  strongest  man  in  those  regions.  This  is 
all  claver,  but  it  pleases  one. 

"My  dear  mother,  yours  most  affectionately, 

"THOMAS  CARLYLE." 

D'Alembert's  name  had  probably  never  reached  Annandale,  and 
Mrs.  Carlyle  could  not  gather  from  it  into  what  perilous  regions  her 
son  was  travelling — but  her  quick  ear  caught  something  in  the  tone 
which  frightened  her : 

"Oh,  my  dear,  dear  son  [she  answered  at  once  and  eagerly],  I 
would  pray  for  a  blessing  on  your  learning.  I  beg  you  with  all  the 
feeling  of  an  affectionate  mother  that  you  would  study  the  Word  of 
God,  which  He  has  graciously  put  in  our  hands,  that  it  may  power- 
fully reach  our  hearts,  that  we  may  discern  it  in  its  true  light.  God 
made  man  after  His  own  image,  therefore  he  behoved  to  be  without 
any  imperfect  faculties.  Beware,  my  dear  son,  of  such  thoughts ; 
let  them  not  dwell  on  your  mind.  God  forbid  !  But  I  dare  say  you 
will  not  care  to  read  this  scrawl.  Do  make  religion  your  great 
study,  Tom;  if  you  repent  it,  I  will  bear  the  blame  forever." 

Carlyle  was  thinking  as  much  as  his  mother  of  religion,  but  the 
form  in  which  his  thoughts  were  running  was  not  hers.  He  was 
painfully  seeing  that  all  things  were  not  wholly  as  he  had  been 
taught  to  think  them ;  the  doubts  which  had  stopped  his  divinity 


83  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

career  were  blackening  into  thunder-clouds ;  and  all  his  reflections 
were  colored  by  dyspepsia.  ' '  I  was  entirely  unknown  in  Edinburgh 
circles,"  he  says,  "solitary,  eating  my  own  heart,  fast  losing  my 
health  too,  a  prey  to  nameless  struggles  and  miseries,  which  have 
yet  a  kind  of  horror  in  them  to  my  thoughts,  three  weeks  without 
any  kind  of  sleep  from  impossibility  to  be  free  of  noise."  In  fact, 
he  was  entering  on  what  he  called  ' '  the  three  most  miserable  years 
of  my  life. "  He  would  have  been  saved  from  much  could  he  have 
resolutely  thrown  himself  into  his  intended  profession ;  but  he  soon 
came  to  hate  it,  as  just  then,  perhaps,  he  would  have  hated  any- 
thing. 

"I  had  thought  [he  writes  in  a  note  somewhere]  of  attempting 
to  become  an  advocate.  It  seemed  glorious  to  me  for  its  indepen- 
dency, and  I  did  read  some  law  books,  attend  Hume's  lectures  on 
Scotch  law,  and  converse  with  and  question  various  dull  people  of 
the  practical  sort.  But  it  and  they  and  the  admired  lecturing  Hume 
himself  appeared  to  me  mere  denizens  of  the  kingdom  of  dulness, 
pointing  towards  nothing  but  money  as  wages  for  all  that  bogpool 
of  disgust.  Hume's  lectures  once  done  with,  I  flung  the  thing  away 
forever." 

Men  who  are  out  of  humor  with  themselves  often  see  their  own 
condition  reflected  in  the  world  outside  them,  and  everything  seems 
amiss  because  it  is  not  well  with  themselves.  But  the  state  of  Scot- 
land and  England  also  was  well  fitted  to  feed  his  discontent.  The 
great  war  had  been  followed  by  a  collapse.  Wages  were  low,  food 
at  famine  prices.  Tens  of  thousands  of  artisans  were  out  of  work, 
their  families  were  starving,  and  they  themselves  were  growing  mu- 
tinous. Even  at  home,  from  his  own  sternly  patient  father,  who 
never  meddled  with  politics,  he  heard  things  not  calculated  to  rec- 
oncile him  to  existing  arrangements. 

"I  have  heard  my  father  say  [he  mentions]  with  an  impressive- 
ness  which  all  his  perceptions  carried  with  them,  that  the  lot  of  a 
poor  man  was  growing  worse,  that  the  world  would  not,  and  could 
not,  last  as  it  was,  but  mighty  changes,  of  which  none  saw  the  end, 
were  on  the  way.  In  the  dear  years,  when  the  oatmeal  was  as  high 
as  ten  shillings  a  stone,  he  had  noticed  the  laborers,  I  have  heard 
him  tell,  retire  each  separately  to  a  brook,  and  there  drink  instead  of 
dining,  anxious  only  to  hide  it."1 

These  early  impressions  can  be  traced  through  the  whole  of  Carlyle's 
writings  ;  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  him  that  there  was  some- 
thing vicious  to  the  bottom  in  English  and  Scotch  society,  and  that 
revolution  in  some  form  or  other  lay  visibly  ahead.  So  long  as  Irving 
remained  in  Edinburgh  "the  condition  of  the  people"  question  was 

>  "Reminiscences,"'  vol.  i.  p.  CO. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  37 

the  constant  subject  of  talk  between  him  and  Carlyle.  They  were 
both  of  them  ardent,  radical,  indignant  at  the  injustice  which  they 
witnessed,  and  as  yet  unconscious  of  the  difficulty  of  mending  it. 
Irving,  however,  he  had  seen  little  of  since  they  had  moved  to  Ed- 
inburgh, and  he  was  left,  for  the  most  part,  alone  with  his  own 
thoughts.  There  had  come  upon  him  the  trial  which  in  these  days 
awaits  every  man  of  high  intellectual  gifts  and  noble  nature  on  their 
first  actual  acquaintance  with  human  things — the  question,  far  deep- 
er than  any  mere  political  one,  What  is  this  world  then,  what  is  this 
human  life,  over  which  a  just  God  is  said  to  preside,  but  of  whose 
presence  or  whose  providence  so  few  signs  are  visible  ?  In  happier 
ages  religion  silences  scepticism  if  it  cannot  reply  to  its  difficulties, 
and  postpones  the  solution  of  the  mystery  to  another  stage  of  exist- 
ence. Brought  up  in  a  pious  family,  where  religion  was  not  talked 
about  or  emotionalized,  but  was  accepted  as  the  rule  of  thought  and 
conduct,  himself  too  instinctively  upright,  pure  of  heart,  and  rever- 
ent, Carlyle,  like  his  parents,  had  accepted  the  Bible  as  a  direct  com- 
munication from  Heaven.  It  made  known  the  will  of  God,  and  the 
relation  in  which  man  stood  to  his  Maker,  as  present  facts  like  a  law 
of  nature,  the  truth  of  it,  like  the  truth  of  gravitation,  which  man 
must  act  upon  or  immediately  suffer  the  consequences.  But  relig- 
ion, as  revealed  in  the  Bible,  passes  beyond  present  conduct,  pene- 
trates all  forms  of  thought,  and  takes  possession  wherever  it  goes. 
It  claims  to  control  the  intellect,  to  explain  the  past,  and  foretell  the 
future.  It  has  entered  into  poetry  and  art,  and  has  been  the  inter- 
preter of  history.  And  thus  there  had  grown  round  it  a  body  of 
opinion,  on  all  varieties  of  subjects,  assumed  to  be  authoritative  ; 
dogmas  which  science  was  contradicting  ;  a  history  of  events  which 
it  called  infallible,  yet  which  the  canons  of  evidence,  by  which  other 
histories  are  tried  and  tested  successfully,  declared  not  to  be  infallible 
at  all.  To  the  Mainhill  household  the  Westminster  Confession  was 
a  full  and  complete  account  of  the  position  of  mankind  and  of  the 
Being  to  whom  they  owed  their  existence.  The  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ment not  only  contained  all  spiritual  truth  necessary  for  guidance  in 
word  and  deed,  but  every  fact  related  hi  them  was  literally  true. 
To  doubt  was  not  to  mistake,  but  was  to  commit  a  sin  of  the  deep- 
est dye,  and  was  a  sure  sign  of  a  corrupted  heart.  Carlyle's  wide 
study  of  modern  literature  had  shown  him  that  much  of  this  had  ap- 
peared to  many  of  the  strongest  minds  in  Europe  to  be  doubtful  or 
even  plainly  incredible.  Young  men  of  genius  are  the  first  to  feel 
the  growing  influences  of  their  time,  and  on  Carlyle  they  fell  in  their 
most  painful  form.  Notwithstanding  his  pride,  he  was  most  modest 
and  self-distrustful.  He  had  been  taught  that  want  of  faith  was  sin, 
yet ,  like  a  true  Scot,  he  knew  that  he  would  peril  his  soul  if  he  pre- 
tended to  believe  what  his  intellect  told  him  was  false.  If  any  part 
I.— 3 


88  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  what  was  called  Revelation  was  mistaken,  how  could  he  be  as- 
sured of  the  rest  ?  How  could  he  tell  that  the  moral  part  of  it,  to 
which  the  phenomena  which  he  saw  round  him  were  in  plain  contra- 
diction, was  more  than  a  "devout  imagination?"  Thus  to  poverty 
and  dyspepsia  there  had  been  added  the  struggle  which  is  always 
hardest  in  the  noblest  minds,  which  Job  had  known,  and  David,  and 
Solomon,  and  yEschylus,  and  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe.  Where  are 
the  tokens  of  His  presence  ?  wLere  are  the  signs  of  His  coming  ?  Is 
there,  in  this  universe  of  things,  any  moral  Providence  at  all  ?  or  is 
it  the  product  of  some  force  of  the  nature  of  which  we  can  know 
nothing  save  only  that  "  one  event  comes  alike  to  all,  to  the  good  and 
to  the  evil,  and  that  there  is  no  difference  ?" 

Commonplace  persons,  if  assailed  by  such  misgivings,  thrust  them 
aside,  throw  themselves  into  occupation,  and  leave  doubt  to  settle 
itself.  Carlyle  could  not.  The  importunacy  of  the  overwhelming 
problem  forbade  him  to  settle  himself  either  to  law  or  any  other 
business  till  he  had  wrestled  down  the  misgivings  which  had  grap- 
pled with  him.  The  greatest  of  us  have  our  weaknesses,  and  the 
Margaret  Gordon  business  had,  perhaps,  intertwined  itself  with  the 
spiritual  torment.  The  result  of  it  was  that  Carlyle  was  extremely 
miserable,  "tortured,"  as  he  says,  "by  the  freaks  of  an  imagination 
of  extraordinary  and  wild  activity." 

He  went  home,  as  he  had  proposed,  after  the  session,  but  Mainhill 
was  never  a  less  happy  home  to  him  than  it  proved  this  summer. 
He  could  not  conceal,  perhaps  he  did  not  try  to  conceal,  the  condi- 
tion of  his  mind ;  and  to  his  family,  to  whom  the  truth  of  their  creed 
was  no  more  a  matter  of  doubt  than  the  presence  of  the  sun  in  the 
sky,  he  must  have  seemed  as  if  "possessed."  He  could  not  read; 
he  wandered  about  the  moors  like  a  restless  spirit.  His  mother  was 
in  agony  about  him.  He  was  her  darling,  her  pride,  the  apple  of 
her  eye,  and  she  could  not  restrain  her  lamentations  and  remon- 
strances. His  father,  with  supreme  good  judgment,  left  him  to 
himself. 

"His  tolerance  for  me,  his  trust  in  me  [Carlyle  says],  was  great. 
When  I  declined  going  forward  into  the  Church,  though  his  heart 
was  set  upon  it,  he  respected  my  scruples,  and  patiently  let  me  have 
my  way.  When  I  had  peremptorily  ceased  from  being  a  school- mas- 
ter, though  he  inwardly  disapproved  of  the  step  as  imprudent,  and 
saw  me  in  successive  summers  lingering  beside  him  in  sickness  of 
body  and  mind,  without  outlook  towards  any  good,  he  had  the  for- 
bearance to  say  at  worst  nothing,  never  once  to  whisper  discontent 
with  me."  , 

A  letter  from  Irving,  to  whom  he  had  written  complaining  of  his 
condition  and  of  his  friend's  silence,  was  welcome  at  this  dreary 
period : 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  39 

Edicard  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh:  June  4, 1819. 

"  Dear  Sir, — My  apology  for  neglecting  you  so  long  is  that  I  have 
been  equally  negligent  of  myself.  By  what  fatality  1  know  not,  I 
have  been  so  entirely  devoted  to  idleness  or  to  insignificant  employ- 
ments since  you  left  me,  that  German,  Italian,  and  every  other  study, 
useful  or  serious,  has  been  relinquished.  Perhaps  this  renewal  of 
our  intercourse  may  be  the  date  of  my  awakening  from  my  slum- 
ber, as  the  breaking  up  of  our  intercourse  was  the  date  of  its  com- 
mencement. To  speak  of  myself,  that  most  grateful  of  topics,  is, 
therefore,  out  of  the  question  ;  as  it  would  only  be  to  expose  the 
day-dreams  of  this  my  lethargy  to  one  whose  active  mind  has  no 
sympathy  with  listlessness  and  drowsiness,  and  this  subject  being 
excluded,  where  shall  I  find  materials  for  this  letter  ? 

' '  I  could  detail  to  you  the  mineralogy  of  the  Campsey  hills,  and 
tell  you  of  the  overlying  formation  of  porphyry  above  the  green- 
stone, and  of  the  nearly  horizontal  bed  of  limestone  on  the  green- 
stone which  supplies  the  greater  part  of  Stirling,  Dumbarton,  and 
Strathearn,  and  of  a  curious  quarry  of  stone  which  is  carried  far  and 
near  for  building  stoves  and  setting  grates,  with  an  account  of  its 
singular  virtue  of  resisting  heat ;  but  well  I  know  you  are  weary 
unto  death  of  such  jargon.  And  I  could  relate  to  you  one  most 
sentimental  incident  that  did  befall  me  on  that  journey,  whereby 
hangs  a  tale  which  might  furnish  matter  for  a  novel  or  even  a  mod- 
ern tragedy;  but  then  I  suspect  you  have  already  put  me  down  for 
an  adventure-hunter,  which  is  too  near  a  stage  to  a  story-teller  to 
fall  in  with  my  fancy. 

"  Now  the  truth  is,  to  throw  in  a  word  of  self-defence,  if  I  have  a 
turn  for  the  romantic,  it  is  not  for  the  vanity  of  being  the  actor  of  a 
strange  part,  or  the  spouter  of  a  strange  tale  in  the  various  scenes  of 
the  great  drama  of  this  mortal  state,  but  rather  to  be  a  spectator  of 
those  who  are  so,  more  especially  if  they  be  unfortunate  withal ;  and 
occasionally  I  confess  to  have  the  privilege  of  the  ancient  chorus,  of 
moralizing  a  little,  or  rather  not  a  little,  upon  the  passing  events  ; 
and  occasionally  to  reach  an  admonition  or  a  consolation  to  the  suf- 
fering hero  or  heroine  of  the  piece.  But  see,  I  am  letting  you  into 
some  of  the  vagaries  which  came  and  went  across  my  fancy  during 
the  interval  of  apathy  which  has  passed  away  since  I  was  separated 
from  your  conversation,  for  which  I  have  not  yet  found  a  substitute. 

"And  I  could  dwell  upon  the  rich  harvest  of  insight  into  charac- 
ter which  I  gathered  from  the  debates  of  the  General  Assembly,  and 
of  the  lack  of  genius  and  honesty  which  took  from  its  value,  and  of 
the  rankness  and  superfluity  of  vulgarity  and  bad  temper  and  party 
zeal,  which  were  as  the  thistles  and  ragworts  and  tares  of  the  crop, 
but  that  I  know  your  mind  is  incurious  of  these  things,  engaged  as 
it  is  with  much  higher  contemplations. 

"  Of  the  men  of  Edinburgh  and  their  employments  I  know  as  lit- 
tlo  as  of  those  of  Canton  in  China,  save  that  'Christieson  rather  in- 
clines to  fall  in  with  Lord  Lauderdale's  views  of  the  Bullion  question 
than  the  Committee's,  and  that  he  is  as  sure  as  ever  that  all  men  have 
mistaken  the  meaning  of  Aristotle — which,  it  seems,  is  wonderfully 


40  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

wrapped  up  in  the  power  of  the  particle  av — and  that  Galloway  is 
as  ill-bred,  and  stares  as  full,  and  wears  his  hair  hanging  over  the 
ample  circumference  of  his  globular  skull,  as  usual ;  like  the  thatch 
of  those  round  rustic  Chinese-roofed  cottages  which  gentlemen  some- 
times plant  at  the  outer  gates  of  their  grounds.  As  to  Dickson,  he 
plays  quoits  with  Chartres,  and  at  times  with  me,  and  has  got  his 
mouth  always  filled  with  wit  at  me  for  admiring  those  beautiful  lines 
of  Milton's  "Hymn  on  the  Nativity:"* 

'  It  was  no  season  then  for  her  [Nature] 
To  wanton  with  the  Sun,  her  lusty  paramour.' 

I  need  not  tell  you  where  the  wit  lies  ;  and  you  know  when  he  is 
primed  anything  will  do  for  a  match.  He  is  just  in  the  predica- 
ment of  a  spring-gun  in  a  garden  which  has  ropes  in  every  direction 
— you  cannot  stir  a  foot  but  twitch  goes  one  of  its  ropes  ;  round  it 
turns  full-mouthed  upon  you,  and,  hit  or  miss,  off  it  goes. 

"Weary  not  then,  my  dear  Carlyle,  of  the  country.  I  am  here  in 
the  midst  of  the  busy  world,  and  its  business  only  interrupts  me,  and 
would  vex  me  if  I  would  let  it.  Fill  up  with  the  softness  of  rural 
beauty,  and  the  sincerity  of  rural  manners,  and  the  contentment  of 
rural  life,  those  strong  impressions  of  nature  and  of  men  whicty  are 
already  in  your  mind,  till  the  pictures  become  more  mellow  and 
joyous,  and  yield  to  yourself  more  delight  in  forming,  and  to  others 
more  pleasure  in  viewing  them. 

' '  I  would  I  were  along  with  you  to  charm  the  melancholy  of  soli- 
tude, and  in  your  company  to  carry  my  eye  into  those  marks  of  be- 
neficence and  love  which  every  part  of  nature  exhibits,  and  win  from 
the  contemplation  of  them  a  portion  of  that  beneficence ;  so  that  the 
restless  and  evil  passions  of  my  heart  might  be  charmed  if  not 
shamed  into  repose,  and  I  might  go  forth  again  into  the  world  of 
busy  speech  resolved  to  mar  the  enjoyment  of  no  one,  but  in  my 
little  sphere  to  do  all  the  good  it  would  allow,  to  wish  for  a  wider 
sphere,  and  to  live  in  hope  of  that  wider  and  better  existence  which, 
when  it  is  revealed,!  pray  that  you  and  I  and  all  we  love  and  should 
love  may  be  prepared  for. 

"Don't  be  so  tardy  in  writing  to  me  as  I  have  been  in  writing  to 
you.  Arrange  the  plan  of  a  correspondence  which  may  be  useful 
to  us  both.  You  proposed  it  first,  and  now  I  reckon  myself  entitled 
to  press  it.  Remember  me  kindly  to  your  father  and  mother,  and  to 
Sandy  and  the  rest.  Your  faithful  friend,  EDWARD  IRVING." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A.D.  1819.      JET.  24. 

IN  November  Carlyle  was  back  at  Edinburgh  again,  with  his  pu- 
pils and  his  law  lectures,  which  he  had  not  yet  deserted,  and  still 
persuaded  himself  that  he  would  persevere  with.  He  did  not  find 
his  friend;  Irving  had  gone  to  Glasgow,  to  be  assistant  to  Dr.Chal- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  41 

mers ;  and  the  state  of  things  which  he  found  in  the  metropolis  was 
not  of  a  sort  to  improve  his  humor. 

"1819  [he  says]  was  the  year  of  the  great  Radical  rising  in 
Glasgow,  and  the  kind  of  (altogether  imaginary)  rising  they  at- 
tempted on  Bonnymuir  against  the  yeomanry — a  'time  of  great  rage 
and  absurd  terrors  and  expectations;  a  very  fierce  Radical  and  anti- 
Radical  time ;  Edinburgh  suddenly  agitated  by  it  all  round  me,  not 
to  mention  Glasgow  in  the  distance;  gentry  people  full  of  zeal  and 
foolish  terror  and  fury,  and  looking  disgustingly  busy  and  impor- 
tant. Courier  hussars  would  come  in  from  the  Glasgow  region,  cov- 
ered with  mud, breathless  from  head-quarters, as  you  took  your  walk 
in  Princes  Street;  and  you  would  hear  old  powdered  gentlemen  in 
silver  spectacles  talking  in  low-toned  but  exultant  voice  about '  Cor- 
don of  troops,  sir,'  as  you  went  along.  The  mass  of  the  people,  not 
the  populace  alone,  had  a  quite  different  feeling,  as  if  the  danger 
was  small  or  imaginary  and  the  grievances  dreadfully  real,  which 
was,  with  emphasis,  my  own  poor  private  notion  of  it.  One  bleared 
Sunday  morning  I  had  gone  out,  perhaps  seven  or  eight  A.M.,  for  my 
walk.  At  the  riding-liouse  in  Nicholson  Street  was  a  kind  of  strag- 

fly  group  or  small  crowd,  with  red-coats  interspersed.  Coming  up, 
perceived  it  was  the  Lothian  yeomanry  (Mid  or  East  I  know  not), 
just  getting  under  way  for  Glasgow,  to  be  part  of  '  the  cordon.'  I 
halting  a  moment,  they  took  the  road,  very  ill -ranked,  not  numer- 
ous, or  any  way  dangerous-looking  men  of  war;  but  there  rose  from 
the  little  crowd,  by  way  of  farewell  cheer  to  them,  the  strangest  shout 
I  have  heard  human  throats  utter;  not  very  loud,  or  loud  even  for 
the  small  numbers;  but  it  said,  as  plain  as  words,  and  with  infinitely 
more  emphasis  of  sincerity,  '  May  the  devil  go  with  you,  ye  pecul- 
iarly contemptible  and  dead  to  the  distresses  of  your  fellow-creat- 
ures.' Another  morning,  months  after,  spring  and  sun  now  come, 
and  the  'cordon,'  etc.,  all  over,  I  met  a  gentleman,  an  advocate, 
slightly  of  my  acquaintance,  hurrying  along,  musket  in  hand,  to- 
wards*'the  Links,'  there  to  be  drilled  as  an  item  of  the  'gentleman 
volunteers '  now  afoot.  '  You  should  have  the  like  of  this,'  said  he, 
cheerily  patting  his  musket.  '  H'm,  yes  ;  but  I  haven't  yet  quite 
settled  on  which  side!'  which,  probably,  he  hoped  was  quiz,  though 
it  really  expressed  my  feeling.  Irving,  too,  and  all  of  us  juniors, 
had  the  same  feeling  in  different  intensities,  and  spoken  of  only 
to  one  another :  a  sense  that  revolt  against  such  a  load  of  unvera- 
cities,  impostures,  and  quietly  inane  formalities  would  one  day  be- 
come indispensable  —  sense  which  had  a  kind  of  rash,  false,  and 
quasi-insolent  joy  in  it;  mutiny,  revolt,  being  alight  matter  to  the 
young."1 

The  law  lectures  went  on,  and  Carlyle  wrote  to  his  mother  about 
his  progress  with  them.  " The  law,"  he  said,  "I  find  to  be  a  most 
complicated  subject,  yet  I  like  it  pretty  well,  and  feel  that  I  shall 
like  it  better  as  I  proceed.  Its  great  charm  in  my  eyes  is  that  no 

1  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  152. 


42  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

mean  compliances  are  requisite  for  prospering  in  it. "  To  Irving  he 
had  written  a  fuller,  not  yet  completely  full,  account  of  himself,  com- 
plaining perhaps  of  his  obstructions  and  difficulties.  Irving's  advice 
is  not  what  would  have  been  given  by  a  cautious  attorney.  He  ad- 
mired his  friend,  and  only  wished  his  great  capabilities  to  be  known 
as  soon  as  possible : 

Edward  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"31  Kent  Street,  Glasgow  :  December  28, 1819. 

"Dear  Carlyle, — I  pray  that  you  may  prosper  in  your  legal  stud- 
ies, provided  only  you  will  give  your  mind  to  take  in  all  the  elements 
which  enter  into  the  question  of  the  obstacles.  But  remember,  it  is 
not  want  of  knowledge  alone  that  impedes,  but  want  of  instruments 
for  making  that  knowledge  available.  This  you  know  better  than  I. 
Now  my  view  of  the  matter  is  that  your  knowledge,  likely  very  soon 
to  surpass  in  extent  and  accuracy  that  of  most  of  your  compeers,  is 
to  be  made  salable,  not  by  the  usual  way  of  adding  friend  to  friend, 
which  neither  you  nor  I  are  enough  patient  of,  but  by  a  way  of  your 
own.  Known  you  must  be  before  you  can  be  employed.  Known 
you  will  not  be  for  a  winning,  attaching,  accommodating  man,  but 
for  an  original,  commanding,  and  rather  self-willed  man.  Now  es- 
tablish this  last  character,  and  you  take  a  far  higher  grade  than  any 
other.  How  are  you  to  establish  it  ?  Just  by  bringing  yourself  before 
the  public  as  you  are.  First  find  vent  for  your  notions.  Get  them 
tongue  ;  upon  every  subject  get  them  tongue,  not  upon  law  alone. 
You  cannot  at  present  get  them  either  utterance  or  audience  by  ordi- 
nary converse.  Your  utterance  is  not  the  most  favorable.  It  con- 
vinces, but  does  not  persuade ;  and  it  is  only  a  very  few  (I  can  claim 
place  for  myself)  that  it  fascinates.  Your  audience  is  worse.  They 
are  generally  (I  exclude  myself)  unphilosophical,  unthinking  drivel- 
lers, who  lay  in  wait  to  catch  you  in  your  words,  and  who  give  you  lit- 
tle justice  in  the  recital,  because  you  give  their  vanity  or  self-esteem 
little  justice,  or  even  mercy,  in  the  rencounter.  Therefore,  my  dear 
friend,  some  other  way  is  to  be  sought  for.  Now  pause,  if  you  be  not 
convinced  of  this  conclusion.  If  you  be,  we  shall  proceed.  If  you 
be  not,  read  again,  and  you  will  see  it  just,  and  as  such  admit  it.  Now 
what  way  is  to  be  sought  for  ?  I  know  no  other  than  the  press.  You 
have  not  the  pulpit  as  I  have,  and  where  perhaps  I  have  the  advan- 
tage. You  have  not  good  and  influential  society.  I  know  nothing 
but  the  press  for  your  purpose.  None  are  so  good  as  these  two,  the 
Edinburgh  Review  and  Blackwood's  Magazine.  Do  not  steal  away  and 
say,  the  one  I  am  not  fit  for,  the  other  I  am  not  willing  for.  Both 
pleas  I  refuse.  The  Edinburgh  Review  you  are  perfectly  fit  for  ; 
not  yet  upon  law,  but  upon  any  work  of  mathematics,  physics,  gen- 
eral literature,  history,  and  politics,  you  are  as  ripe  as  the  average 
of  their  writers.  Blackicood's  Magazine  presents  bad  company,  I 
confess  ;  but  it  also  furnishes  a  good  field  for  fugitive  writing,  and 
good  introductions  to  society  on  one  side  of  the  question.  This  last 
advice,  I  confess,  is  against  my  conscience,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
blot  it  out ;  for  did  I  not  rest  satisfied  that  you  were  to  use  your 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  43 

pen  for  your  conscience  I  would  never  ask  you  to  use  it  for  your 
living.  Writers  in  the  encyclopedias,  except  of  leading  articles,  do 
not  get  out  from  the  crowd ;  but  writers  in  the  Review  come  out  at 
once,  and  obtain  the  very  opinion  you  want,  opinion  among  the  in- 
telligent and  active  men  in  every  rank,  not  among  the  sluggish 
tatxmti  alone.  N 

"It  is  easy  for  me  to  advise  what  many  perhaps  are  as  ready  to 
advise.  But  I  know  I  have  influence,  and  I  am  willing  to  use  it. 
Therefore,  again  let  me  entreat  you  to  begin  a  new  year  by  an  effort 
continuous,  not  for  getting  knowledge,  but  for  communicating  it, 
that  you  may  gain  favor,  and  money,  and  opinion.  Do  not  disem- 
bark'all  your  capital  of  thought,  and  time,  and  exertion  into  this 
concern,  but  disembark  a  portion  equal  to  its  urgency,  and  make  the 
experiment  upon  a  proper  scale.  If  it  succeed,  the  spirit  of  advent- 
ure will  follow,  and  you  will  be  ready  to  embark  more ;  if  it  fail, 
no  great  venture  was  made ;  no  great  venture  is  lost :  the  time  is  not 
yet  come.  But  you  will  have  got  a  more  precise  view  by  the  failure 
of  the  obstacles  to  be  surmounted,  and  time  and  energy  will  give 
you  what  you  lacked.  Therefore  I  advise  you,  as  a  very  sincere 
friend,  that  forthwith  you  choose  a  topic,  not  that  you  are  best  in- 
formed on,  but  that  you  are  most  likely  to  find  admittance  for,  and 
set  apart  some  portion  of  each  day  or  week  to  this  object  and  this 
alone,  leaving  the  rest  free  for  objects  professional  and  pleasant. 
This  is  nothing  more  than  what  I  urged  at  our  last  meeting,  but  I 
have  nothing  to  write  I  reckon  so  important.  Therefore  do  take  it 
to  thought.  Depend  upon  it,  you  will  be  delivered  by  such  present 
adventure  from  those  harpies  of  your  peace  you  are  too  much  tor- 
mented with.  You  will  get  a  class  with  whom  society  will  be  as 
pleasant  as  we  have  found  it  together,  and  you  will  open  up  ulti- 
mate prospects  which  I  trust  no  man  shall  be  able  to  close. 

"I  think  our  town  is  safe  for  every  leal-hearted  man  to  his  Maker 
and  to  his  fellow-men  to  traverse  without  fear  of  scaith.  Such  trav- 
ersing is  the  wine  and  milk  of  my  present  existence.  I  do  not 
warrant  against  a  Radical  rising,  though  I  think  it  vastly  improba- 
ble. But  continue  these  times  a  year  or  two,  and  unless  you  un- 
make our  present  generation,  and  unman  them  of  human  feeling 
and  of  Scottish  intelligence,  you  will  have  commotion.  It  is  im- 
possible for  them  to  die  of  starvation,  and  they  are  making  no  pro- 
vision to  have  them  removed.  And  what  on  earth  is  for  them? 
God  and  my  Saviour  enable  me  to  lift  their  hearts  above  a  world 
that  has  deserted  them,  though  they  live  in  its  plenty  and  labor  in 
its  toiling  service,  and  fix  them  upon  a  world  which,  my  dear  Car- 
lyle,  I  wish  you  and  I  had  the  inheritance  in — which  we  may  have 
if  we  will.  But  I  am  not  going  to  preach,  else  I  would  plunge  into 
another  subject  which  I  rate  above  all  subjects.  Yet  this  should 
not  be  excluded  from  our  communion  either. 

"  I  am  getting  on  quietly  enough,  and,  if  I  be  defended  from  the 
errors  of  my  heart,  may  do  pretty  well.  The  Doctor  (Chalmers)  is 
full  of  acknowledgments,  and  I  ought  to  be  full — to  a  higher  source. 
"  Yours  affectionately,  EDWARD  IRVING." 

Carlyle  was  less  eager  to  give  his  thoughts  "tongue  "  than  Irving 


44  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

supposed.  He  had  not  yet,  as  lie  expressed  it,  "taken  the  devil  by 
the  horns."  He  did  not  mean  to  trouble  the  world  with  his  doubts, 
and  as  yet  he  had  not  much  else  to  trouble  it  with.  But  he  was 
more  and  more  restless.  Reticence  about  his  personal  sufferings 
was  at  no  time  one  of  his  virtues.  Dyspepsia  had  him  by  the  throat. 
Even  the  minor  ailments  to  which  our  flesh  is  heir,  and  which  most 
of  us  bear  in  silence,  the  eloquence  of  his  imagination  flung  into 
forms  like  the  temptations  of  a  saint.  His  mother  had  early  de- 
scribed him  as  "gey  ill  to  live  wi',"  and  while  in  great  things  he 
was  the  most  considerate  and  generous  of  men,  in  trifles  he  was  in- 
tolerably irritable.  Dyspepsia  accounts  for  most  of  it.  He  did  not 
know  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  when  the  fit  was  severe 
he  drew  pictures  of  his  condition  which  frightened  every  one  be- 
longing to  him.  He  had  sent  his  family  in  the  middle  of  the  win- 
ter a  report  of  himself  which  made  them  think  that  he  was  serious- 
ly ill.  His  brother  John,  who  had  now  succeeded  him  as  a  teacher 
in  Annan  School,  was  sent  for  in  haste  to  Mainhill  to  a  consultation, 
and  the  result  was  a  letter  which  shows  the  touching  affection  with 
which  the  Carlyles  clung  to  one  another : 

John  A.  Carlyle  to  TJiomas  Carlyle. 

"  Mainhill :  February,  1820. 

"I  have  just  arrived  from  Annan,  and  we  are  all  so  uneasy  on 
your  account  that  at  the  request  of  my  father  in  particular,  and  of 
all  the  rest,  I  am  determined  to  write  to  call  on  you  for  a  speedy 
answer.  Your  father  and  mother,  and  all  of  us,  are  extremely  anx- 
ious that  you  should  come  home  directly,  if  possible,  if  you  think 
you  can  come  without  danger.  And  we  trust  that,  notwithstanding 
the  bitterness  of  last  summervyou  will  still  find  it  emphatically  a 
home.  My  mother  bids  me  call-  upon  you  to  do  so  by  every  tie 
of  affection,  and  by  all  that  is  sacred.  She  esteems  seeing  you 
again  and  administering  comfort  to  you  as  her  highest  felicity. 
Your  father,  also,  is  extremely  anxious  to  see  you  again  at  home. 
The  room  is  much  more  comfortable  than  it  was  last  season.  The 
roads  are  repaired,  and  all  things  more  convenient ;  and  we  all  trust 
that  you  will  yet  recover,  after  you  shall  have  inhaled  your  native 
breezes  and  escaped  once  more  from  the  unwholesome  city  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  its  selfish  and  unfeeling  inhabitants.  In  the  name  of  all, 
then,  I  call  upon  you  not  to  neglect  or  refuse  our  earnest  wishes  ;  to 
come  home  and  experience  the  comforts  of  parental  and  brotherly 
affection,  which,  though  rude  and  without  polish,  is  yet  sincere  and 
honest." 

The  father  adds  a  postscript; 

"My  dear  Tom, — I  have  been  very  uneasy  about  you  ever  since 
we  received  your  moving  letter,  and  I  thought  to  have  written  to 
you  myself  this  day  and  told  you  all  my  thoughts  about  your  health, 
which  is  the  foundation  and  copestone  of  all  our  earthly  comfort. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  45 

But,  being  particularly  engaged  this  day,  I  caused  John  to  write. 
Come  home  as  soon  as  possible,  and  forever  oblige, 

"  Dear  son,  your  loving  father, 

' '  JAMES  CARLYLE.  " 

The  fright  had  been  unnecessary.  Dyspepsia,  while  it  tortures 
body  and  mind,  does  little  serious  injury.  The  attack  had  passed 
off.  A  letter  from  Carlyle  was  already  on  the  way,  in  which  the 
illness  was  scarcely  noticed ;  it  contained  little  but  directions  for  his 
brothers'  studies,  and  an  offer  of  ten  pounds  out  of  his  scantily  filled 
purse  to  assist  "  Sandy"  on  the  farm.  With  his  family  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  talk  freely,  and  through  this  gloomy  time  he 
had  but  one  friend,  though  this  one  was  of  priceless  value.  To  Ir- 
ving he  had  written  out  his  discontent.  He  was  now  disgusted 
with  law,  and  meant  to  abandon  it.  Irving,  pressed  as  he  was  with 
work,  could  always  afford  Carlyle  the  best  of  his  time  and  judg- 
ment: 

Edward  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Glasgow:  March  14, 1820. 

"Since  I  received  your  last  epistle,  which  reminded  me  of  some 
of  those  gloomy  scenes  of  nature  I  have  often  had  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  contemplating,  I  have  been  wrought  almost  to  death, 
having  had  three  sermons  to  write,  and  one  of  them  a  charity  ser- 
mon ;  but  I  shall  make  many  sacrifices  before  I  shall  resign  the  en- 
tertainment and  benefit  I  derive  from  our  correspondence. 

"Your  mind  is  of  too  penetrating  a  cast  to  rest  satisfied  with  the 
frail  disguise  which  the  happiness  of  ordinary  life  has  thrown  on  to 
hide  its  nakedness,  and  I  do  never  augur  that  your  nature  is  to  be 
satisfied  with  its  sympathies.  Indeed,  I  am  convinced  that  were 
you  translated  into  the  most  elegant  and  informed  circle  of  this 
city,  you  would  find  it  please  only  by  its  novelty,  and  perhaps  re- 
fresh by  its  variety ;  but  you  would  be  constrained  to  seek  the  solid 
employment  and  the  lasting  gratification  of  your  mind  elsewhere. 
The  truth  is,  life  is  a  thing  formed  for  the  average  of  men,  and  it  is 
only  in  those  parts  of  our  nature  which  are  of  average  possession 
that  it  can  gratify.  The  higher  parts  of  our  nature  find  their  enter- 
tainment in  sympathizing  with  the  highest  efforts  of  our  species, 
which  are,  and  will  continue,  confined  to  the  closet  of  the  sage,  and 
can  never  find  their  station  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  talking 
world.  Indeed,  I  will  go  higher  and  say  that  the  highest  parts  of  our 
nature  can  never  have  their  proper  food  till  they  turn  to  contemplate 
the  excellences  of  our  Creator,  and  not  only  to  contemplate  but  to 
imitate  them.  Therefore  it  is,  my  dear  Carlyle,  that  I  exhort  you  to 
call  in  the  finer  parts  of  your  mind,  and  to  try  to  present  the  society 
about  you  with  those  more  ordinary  displays  which  they  can  enjoy. 
The  indifference  with  which  they  receive  them,1  and  the  ignorance 
with  which  they  treat  them,  operate  on  the  mind  like  gall  and  worrn- 

'  I.e.,  the  talk  to  which  you  usually  treat  your  friends. 
3* 


46  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

wood.  I  would  entreat  you  to  be  comforted  in  the  possession  of 
your  treasures,  and  to  study  more  the  times  and  persons  to  which 
you  bring  them  forth.  When  I  say  your  treasures,  I  mean  not 
your  information  so  much,  which  they  will  bear  the  display  of  for 
the  reward  and  value  of  it,  but  of  your  feelings  and  affections, 
which,  being  of  finer  tone  than  theirs,  and  consequently  seeking  a 
keener  expression,  they  are  apt  to  mistake  for  a  rebuke  of  their  own 
tameness,  or  for  intolerance  of  ordinary  things,  and  too  many  of 
them,  I  fear,  for  asperity  of  mind. 

' '  There  is  just  another  panacea  for  your  griefs  (which  are  not 
imaginary,  but  for  which  I  see  a  real  ground  in  the  too  penetrating 
and,  at  times,  perhaps,  too  severe  turn  of  your  mind) ;  but  though  I 
judge  it  better  and  more  worthy  than  reserve,  it  is  perhaps  more  dif- 
ficult of  practice.  I  mean  the  habit  of  using  our  superiority  for  the 
information  and  improvement  of  others.  This  I  reckon  both  the 
most  dignified  and  the  most  kindly  course  that  one  can  take,  found- 
ed upon  the  great  principles  of  human  improvement,  and  founded 
upon  what  I  am  wont,  or  at  least  would  wish,  to  make  my  pattern, 
the  example  of  the  Saviour  of  men,  who  endured,  in  His  ertand  of 
salvation,  the  contradiction  of  men.  But  I  confess,  on  the  other 
hand,  one  meets  with  so  few  that  are  apt  disciples,  or  willing  to  al- 
low superiority,  that  will  be  constantly  fighting  with  you  upon  the 
threshold,  that  it  is  very  heartless,  and  forces  one  to  reserve.  And 
besides,  one  is  so  apt  to  fancy  a  superiority  where  there  is  none, that 
it  is  likely  to  produce  overmuch  self-complacency.  But  I  see  I  am 
beginning  to  prose,  and  therefore  shall  change  the  subject — with 
only  one  remark,  that  your  tone  of  mind  reminds  me  more  than 
anything  of  my  own  when  under  the  sense  of  great  religious  im- 
perfection, and  anxiously  pursuing  after  higher  Christian  attain- 
ments. .  .  . 

"  I  have  read  your  letter  again,  and,  at  the  risk  of  farther  prosing, 
I  shall  have  another  hit  at  its  contents.  You  talk  of  renouncing  the 
law,  and  you  speak  mysteriously  of  hope  springing  up  from  another 
quarter.  I  pray  that  it  may  soon  be  turned  into  enjoyment.  But  I 
would  not  have  you  renounce  the  law  unless  you  coolly  think  that  this 
new  view  contains  those  fields  of  happiness  from  the  want  of  which 
the  prospect  of  law  has  become  so  dreary.  Law  has  within  it  scope 
ample  enough  for  any  mind.  The  reformation  Avhich  it  needs,  and 
which  with  so  much  humor  and  feeling  you  describe,1  is  the  very 
evidence  of  what  I  say.  Did  Adam  Smith  find  the  commercial  sys- 
tem less  encumbered  ?  (I  know  he  did  not  find  it  more) ;  and  see 
what  order  the  mind  of  one  man  has  made  there.  Such  a  reforma- 
tion must  be  wrought  in  law,  and  the  spirit  of  the  age  is  manifestly 
bending  that  way.  I  know  none  who,  from  his  capacity  of  remem- 
bering and  digesting  facts,  and  of  arranging  them  into  general  re- 
sults, is  so  well  fitted  as  yourself. 

"With  regard  to  my  own  affairs,  I  am  becoming  too  much  of  a 
man  of  business,  and  too  little  a  man  of  contemplation.  I  meet  with 
few  minds  to  excite  me,  many  to  drain  me  off,  and,  by  the  habits  of 

1  Carlyle's  letters  to  Irving  are  all,  unfortunately,  lost. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  47 

discharging  and  receiving  nothing  in  return,  I  am  run  off  to  the  very 
lees,  as  you  may  easily  discern.  I  have  a  German  master  and  a  class 
in  college.  I  have  seen  neither  for  a  week ;  such  is  the  state  of  my 
engagements — engagements  with  I  know  not  what ;  with  preaching 
in  St.  John's  once  a  week,  and  employing  the  rest  of  the  week  in 
visiting  objects  in  which  I  can  learn  nothing,  unless  I  am  collecting 
for  a  new  series  of  'Tales  of  my  Landlord,'  which  should  range 
among  Radicals  and  smugglers. 

"Dr.  Chalmers,  though  a  most  entire  original  by  himself,  is  sur- 
rounded with  a  very  prosaical  sort  of  persons,  who  please  me  some- 
thing by  their  zeal  to  carry  into  effect  his  philosophical  schemes, 
and  vex  me  much  by  their  idolatry  of  him.  My  comforts  are  in 
hearing  the  distresses  of  the  people,  and  doing  my  mite  to  al- 
leviate them.  They  are  not  in  the  higher  walks  (I  mean  as  to 
wealth)  in  which  I  am  permitted  to  move,  nor  yet  in  the  greater  pub- 
licity and  notoriety  I  enjoy.  Every  minister  in  Glasgow  is  an  oracle 
to  a  certain  class  of  devotees.  I  would  not  give  one  day  in  solitude 
or  in  meditation  with  a  friend  as  I  have  enjoyed  it  often  along  the 
sands  of  Kirkcaldy  for  ages  in  this  way.  .  .  . 

"  Yours  most  truly,  EDWARD  IRVING." 

It  does  not  appear  what  the  "  other  quarter  "  may  have  been  on 
which  the  prospect  was  brightening.  Carlyle  was  not  more  explicit 
to  his  mother,  to  whom  he  wrote  at  this  time  a  letter  unusually 
gentle  and  melancholy : 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle. 

"  Edinburgh :  March  29, 1820. 

"To  you,  my  dear  mother,  I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful, 
not  only  for  the  common  kindness  of  a  mother,  but  for  the  unceas- 
ing watchfulness  with  which  you  strove  to  instil  virtuous  principles 
into  my  young  mind  ;  and  though  we  are  separated  at  present, 
and  may  be  still  more  widely  separated,  I  hope  the  lessons  which 
you  taught  will  never  be  effaced  from  my  memory.  I  cannot 
say  how  I  have  fallen  into  this  train  of  thought,  but  the  days  of 
childhood  arise  with  so  many  pleasing  recollections,  and  shine  so 
brightly  across  the  tempests  and  inquietudes  of  succeeding  times, 
that  I  felt  unable  to  resist  the  impulse. 

"  You  already  know  that  I  am  pretty  well  as  to  health,  and  also  that 
I  design  to  visit  you  again  before  many  months  have  elapsed.  I  can- 
not say  that  my  prospects  have  got  much  brighter  since  I  left  you ; 
the  aspect  of  the  future  is  still  as  unsettled  as  ever  it  was ;  but  some 
degree  of  patience  is  behind,  and  hope,  the  charmer,  that  '  springs 
eternal  in  the  human  breast,'  is  yet  here  likewise.  I  am  not  of  a 
humor  to  care  very  much  for  good  or  evil  fortune,  so  far  as  con- 
cerns myself;  the  thought  that  my  somewhat  uncertain  condition 
gives  you  uneasiness  chiefly  grieves  me.  Yet  I  would  not  have  you 
despair  of  your  ribe  of  a  boy.  He  will  do  something  yet.  He  is  a 
shy  stingy  soul,  and  very  likely  has  a  higher  notion  of  his  parts 
than  others  have.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  not  incapable  of 
diligence.  He  is  harmless,  and  possesses  the  virtue  of  his  country 


48  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

— thrift;  so  that,  after  all,  things  will  yet  be  right  in  the  end.     My 
love  to  all  the  little  ones.  Your  affectionate  son, 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

The  University  term  ends  early  in  Scotland.  The  expenses  of 
the  six  months  which  the  students  spend  at  college  are  paid  for  in 
many  instances  by  the  bodily  labors  of  the  other  six.  The  end  of 
April  sees  them  all  dispersed,  the  class-rooms  closed,  the  pupils  no 
longer  obtainable  ;  and  the  law  studies  being  finally  abandoned, 
Carlyle  had  nothing  more  to  do  at  Edinburgh,  and  migrated  with 
the  rest.  He  was  going  home;  he  offered  himself  for  a  visit  to  Ir- 
ving at  Glasgow  on  the  way,  and  the  proposal  was  warmly  accepted. 
The  Irving  correspondence  was  not  long  continued;  and  I  make 
the  most  of  the  letters  of  so  remarkable  a  man  which  were  written 
while  he  was  still  himself ,  before  his  intellect  was  clouded : 

Edward  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"34  Kent  Street,  Glasgow:  April  15, 1820. 

"  My  dear  Carlyle, — Right  happy  shall  I  be  to  have  your  company 
and  conversation  for  ever  so  short  a  time,  and  the  longer  the  better; 
and  if  you  could  contrive  to  make  your  visit  so  that  the  beginning 
of  the  week  should  be  the  time  of  your  departure,  I  could  bear  you 
company  on  your  road  a  day's  journey.  I  have  just  finished  my 
sermon — Saturday  at  six  o'clock — at  which  I  have  been  sitting  with- 
out interruption  since  ten ;  but  I  resolved  that  you  should  have  my 
letter  to-morrow,  that  nothing  might  prevent  your  promised  visit,  to 
which  I  hold  you  now  altogether  bound. 

"  It  is  very  dangerous  to  speak  one's  mind  here  about  the  state  of 
the  country.  I  reckon,  however,  the  Radicals  have  in  a  manner  ex- 
patriated themselves  from  the  political  co-operation  of  the  better 
classes;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  believe  there  was  sympathy  enough 
in  the  middle  and  well-informed  people  to  have  caused  a  meliora- 
tion of  our  political  evils,  had  they  taken  time  and  legal  measures. 
I  am  very  sorry  for  the  poor;  they  are  losing  their  religion,  their 
domestic  comfort,  their  pride  of  independence,  their  everything;  and 
if  timeous  remedies  come  not  soon,  they  will  sink,  I  fear,  into  the 
degradation  of  the  Irish  peasantry;  and  if  that  class  goes  down,  thea 
along  with  it  sinks  the  morality  of  every  other  class.  We  are  at  a 
complete  stand  here;  a  sort  of  military  glow  has  taken  all  ranks. 
They  can  see  the  houses  of  the  poor  ransacked  for  arms  without  ut- 
tering an  interjection  of  grief  on  the  fallen  greatness  of  those  who 
brought  in  our  Reformation  and  our  civil  liberty,  and  they  will  hard- 
ly suffer  a  sympathizing  word  from  any  one.  Dr.  Chalmers  takes  a 
safe  course  in  all  these  difficulties.  The  truth  is,  he  does  not  side 
with  any  party.  He  has  a  few  political  nostrums  so  peculiar  that 
they  serve  to  detach  his  ideal  mind  both  from  Whigs  and  Tories  and 
Radicals — that  Britain  would  have  been  as  flourishing  and  full  of 
capital  though  there  had  been  round  the  island  a  brazen  wall  a  thou- 
sand cubits  high;  that  the  national  debt  does  us  neither  good  nor 
ill,  amounting  to  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  mortgage  upon  prop- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  49 

erty,  etc.  The  Whigs  dare  not  speak.  The  philanthropists  are  so 
much  taken  up  each  with  his  own  locality  as  to  take  little  charge  of 
the  general  concern ;  and  so  the  Tories  have  room  to  rage  and  talk 
big  about  armaments  and  pikes  and  battles.  They  had  London  well 
fortified  yesterday  by  the  Radicals,  and  so  forth. 

"  Now  it  will  be  like  the  unimprisoning  of  a  bird  to  come  and  let 
me  have  free  talk.  Not  that  I  have  anything  to  say  in  favor  of  Rad- 
icalism, for  it  is  the  very  destitution  of  philosophy  and  religion  and 
political  economy;  but  that  we  may  lose  ourselves  so  delightfully  in 
reveries  upon  the  emendation  of  the  State,  to  which,  in  fact,  you  and 
I  can  bring  as  little  help  as  we  could  have  done  against  the  late  in- 
undation of  the  Vallois. 

"I  like  the  tone  of  your  last  letter;  for,  remember,  I  read  your 
very  tones  and  gestures,  at  this  distance  of  place,  through  your  let- 
ter, though  it  be  not  the  most  diaphanous  of  bodies.  I  have  no  more 
fear  of  your  final  success  than  Noah  had  of  the  Deluge  ceasing;  and 
though  the  first  dove  returned,  as  you  say  you  are  to  return  to  your 
father's  shelter,  without  even  a  leaf,  yet  the  next  tune,  believe  me, 
you  shall  return  with  a  leaf;  and  yet  another  time,  and  you  shall 
take  a  flight  who  knows  where?  But  of  this  and  other  things  I  de- 
lay farther  parley.  Yours  affectionately,  EDWARD  IRVING." 

Carlylc  went  to  Glasgow,  spent  several  days  there,  and  noted,  ac- 
cording to  his  habit,  the  outward  signs  of  men  and  things.  He  saw 
the  Glasgow  merchants  in  the  Tontine,  he  observed  them,  fine,  clean, 
opulent,  with  their  shining  bald  crowns  and  serene  white  heads, 
sauntering  about  or  reading  their  newspapers.  He  criticised  the 
dresses  of  the  young  ladies,  for  whom  he  had  always  an  eye,  remark- 
ing that  with  all  their  charms  they  had  less  taste  in  their  adornments 
than  were  to  be  seen  in  Edinburgh  drawing-rooms.  He  saw  Chal- 
mers too,  and  heard  him  preach.  "Never  preacher  went  so  into 
one's  heart."  Some  private  talk,  too,  there  was  with  Chalmers, 
"the  Doctor"  explaining  to  him  "some  new  scheme  for  proving 
the  truth  of  Christianity,"  "all  written  in  us  already  in  sympathetic 
ink;  Bible  awakens  it,  and  you  can  read." 

But  the  chief  interest  in  the  Glasgow  visit  lies  less  in  itself  than  in 
what  followed  it — a  conversation  between  two  young,  then  unknown 
men,  strolling  alone  together  over  a  Scotch  moor,  seemingly  the 
most  trifling  of  incidents,  a  mere  feather  floating  before  the  wind, 
yet,  like  the  feather,  marking  the  direction  of  the  invisible  tendency 
of  human  thought.  Carlyle  was  to  walk  home  to  Ecclefechan. 
Irving  had  agreed  to  accompany  him  fifteen  miles  of  his  road,  and 
then  leave  him  and  return.  They  started  early,  and  breakfasted 
on  the  way  at  the  manse  of  a  Mr.  French.  Carlyle  himself  tells  the 
rest  -,1 

"  Drumclog  Moss  is  the  next  object  that  survives,  and  Irving  and 
i  " Reminiscences,"  yol  i.  p.  177. 


50  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

I  sitting  by  ourselves  under  the  silent  bright  skies  among  the  '  peat 
hags '  of  Drumclog  with  a  world  all  silent  round  us.  These  peat 
hags  are  still  pictured  in  me ;  brown  bog  all  pitted  and  broken  with 
heathy  remnants  and  bare  abrupt  wide  holes,  four  or  five  feet  deep, 
mostly  dry  at  present ;  a  flat  wilderness  of  broken  bog,  of  quagmire 
not  to  be  trusted  (probably  wetter  in  old  days  then,  and  wet  still  in 
rainy  seasons).  Clearly  a  good  place  for  Cameronian  preaching,  and 
dangerously  difficult  for  Claverse  and.  horse  soldiery  if  the  suffering 
remnant  had  a  few  old  muskets  among  them!  Scott's  novels  had 
given  the  Claverse  skirmish  here,  which  all  Scotland  knew  of  already, 
a  double  interest  in  those  days.  I  know  not  that  we  talked  much  of 
this  ;  but  we  did  of  many  things,  perhaps  more  confidentially  than 
ever  before ;  a  colloquy  the  sum  of  which  is  still  mournfully  beauti- 
ful to  me  though  the  details  are  gone.  I  remember  us  sitting  on  the 
brow  of  a  peat  hag,  the  sun  shining,  our  own  voices  the  one  sound. 
Far,  far  away  to  the  westward  over  our  brown  horizon,  towered  up, 
white  and  visible  at  the  many  miles  of  distance,  a  high  irregular 
pyramid.  'Ailsa  Craig'  we  at  once  guessed,  and  thought  of  the 
seas  and  oceans  over  yonder.  But  we  did  not  long  dwell  on  that — 
we  seem  to  have  seen  no  human  creature,  after  French,  to  have  had 
no  bother  and  no  need  of  human  assistance  or  society,  not  even  of 
refection,  French's  breakfast  perfectly  sufficing  us.  The  talk  had 
grown  ever  ^friendlier,  more  interesting.  At  length  the  declining 
sun  said  plainly,  you  must  part.  We  sauntered  slowly  into  the 
Glasgow  Muirkirk  highway.  Masons  were  building  at  a  wayside 
cottage  near  by,  or  were  packing  up  on  ceasing  for  the  day.  We 
leant  our  backs  to  a  dry  stone  fence,  and  looking  into  the  western 
radiance  continued  in  talk  yet  a  while,  loath  both  of  us  to  go.  It 
was  just  here,  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  Irving  actually  drew  from  me 
by  degrees,  in  the  softest  manner,  the  confession  that  I  did  not 
think  as  he  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  that  it  was  vain  for  me  to 
expect  I  ever  could  or  should.  This,  if  this  was  so,  he  had  pre- 
engaged  to  take  well  from  me  like  an  elder  brother,  if  I  would  be 
frank  with  him,  and  right  loyally  he  did  so,  and  to  the  end  of  his 
life  we  needed  no  concealments  on  that  head,  which  was  really  a 
step  gained. 

"The  sun  was  about  setting  when  we  turned  away  each  on  his 
own  path.  Irving  would  have  had  a  good  space  farther  to  go  than 
I,  perhaps  fifteen  or  seventeen  miles,  and  would  not  be  in  Kent 
Street  till  towards  midnight.  But  he  feared  no  amount  of  walking, 
enjoyed  it  rather,  as  did  I  in  those  young  years.  I  felt  sad,  but  af- 
fectionate and  good,  in  my  clean,  utterly  quiet  little  inn  at  Muirkirk, 
which  and  my  feelings  in  it  I  still  well  remember.  An  innocent  lit- 
tle Glasgow  youth  (young  bagman  on  his  first  journey,  I  supposed) 
had  talked  awhile  with  me  in  the  otherwise  solitary  little  sitting- 
room.  At  parting  he  shook  hands,  and  with  something  of  sorrow 
in  his  tone  said, '  Good-night.  I  shall  not  see  you  again.'  I  was  off 
next  morning  at  four  o'clock." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  51 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A.D.  1820.      ,£T.  25. 

NOTHING  farther  has  to  be  recorded  of  Carlyle's  history  for  some 
months.  He  remained  quietly  through  the  spring  and  summer  at 
Mainhill,  occupied  chiefly  in  reading.  He  was  beginning  his  ac- 
quaintance Avith  German  literature,  his  friend  Mr.  Swan,  of  Kirk- 
caldy,  who  had  correspondents  at  Hamburg,  providing  him  with 
books.  He  was  still  writing  small  articles,  too,  for  "  Brewster's  En- 
cyclopaedia"— unsatisfactory  work,  though  better  than  none. 

"I  Avas  timorously  aiming  towards  literature  [he  says,  perhaps  in 
consequence  of  Irving's  urgency].  I  thought  in  audacious  moments 
I  might  perhaps  earn  some  wages  that  way  by  honest  labor,  some- 
how to  help  my  finances ;  but  in  that  too  I  was  painfully  sceptical 
(talent  and  opportunity  alike  doubtful,  alike  incredible  to  me,  poor 
down-trodden  soul),  and  in  fact  there  came  little  enough  of  produce 
and  finance  to  me  from  that  source,  and  for  the  first  years  absolute- 
ly none,  in  spite  of  my  diligent  and  desperate  efforts,  which  are  sad 
to  me  to  think  of  even  now.  Acti  laborcs.  Yes,  but  of  such  a  fu- 
tile, dismal,  lonely,  dim,  and  chaotic  kind,  in  a  sense  all  ghastly 
chaos  to  me.  Sad,  dim,  and  ugly  as  the  shore  of  Styx  and  Phlege- 
thon,  as  a  nightmare  dream  become  real.  No  more  of  that;  it  did 
not  conquer  me,  or  quite  kill  me,  thank  God."1 

August  brought  IrATing  to  Annan  for  his  summer  holidays,  which 
opened  possibilities  of  companionship  again.  Mainhill  was  but 
seven  miles  off,  and  the  friends  met  and  wandered  together  in  the 
Mount  Annan  Avoods,  Irving  steadily  cheering  Carlyle  with  confi- 
dent promises  of  ultimate  success.  In  September  came  an  offer  of  a 
tutorship  in  a  "statesman's"4  family,  which  Irving  urged  him  to 
accept. 

"  You  live  too  much  in  an  ideal  world  [Irving  said],  and  you  are 
likely  to  be  punished  for  it  by  an  unfitness  for  practical  life.  It  is 
not  your  fault  but  the  misfortune  of  your  circumstances,  as  it  has 
been  in  a  less  degree  of  my  own.  This  situation  will  be  more  a 
remedy  for  that  than  if  you  were  to  go  back  to  Edinburgh.  Try 
your  hand  with  the  respectable  illiterate  men  of  middle  life,  as  I  am 
doing  at  present,  and  perhaps  in  their  honesty  and  hearty  kindness 
you  may  be  taught  to  forget,  and  perhaps  to  undervalue  the  splen- 
dors, and  envies,  and  competitions  of  men  of  literature.  I  think 
you  have  within  you  the  ability  to  rear  the  pillars  of  your  own  im- 
mortality, and,  what  is  more,  of  your  own  happiness,  from  the  basis 
of  any  level  in  life,  and  I  Avould  always  have  any  man  destined  to 

i  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  H3. 

9  "Statesman,"  or  small  freeholder  farming  bis  own  land,  common  still  in  Cumber- 
land, then  spread  over  the  northern  counties. 


52  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

influence  the  interests  of  men,  to  have  read  these  interests  as  they 
are  disclosed  in  the  mass  of  men,  and  not  in  the  few  who  are  lifted 
upon  the  eminence  of  life,  and  when  there  too  often  forget  the  man 
to  ape  the  ruler  or  the  monarch.  All  that  is  valuable  of  the  literary 
caste  you  have  in  their  writings.  Their  conversations,  I  am  told, 
are  full  of  jealousy  and  reserve,  or,  perhaps  to  cover  that  reserve, 
of  trifling. " 

Irving's  judgment  was  perhaps  at  fault  in  this  advice.  Carlyle, 
proud,  irritable,  and  impatient  as  he  was,  could  not  have  remained 
a  week  in  such  a  household.  His  ambition,  "down-trodden  as  he 
might  call  himself,"  was  greater  than  he  knew.  He  may  have  felt 
like  Halbert  Glendinning  when  the  hope  was  held  out  to  him  of  be- 
coming the  Abbot's  head  keeper — "a  body  servant,  and  to  a  lazy 
priest !"  At  any  rate  the  proposal  came  to  nothing,  and  with  the 
winter  he  was  back  once  more  at  his  lodgings  in  Edinburgh,  deter- 
mined to  fight  his  way  somehow,  though  in  what  direction  he  could 
not  yet  decide  or  see. 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh :  December  5, 1820. 

"I  sit  down  with  the  greatest  pleasure  to  answer  your  most  ac- 
ceptable letter.  The  warm  affection,  the  generous  sympathy  dis- 
played in  it  go  near  the  heart,  and  shed  over  me  a  meek  and  kindly 
dew  of  brotherly  love  more  refreshing  than  any  but  a  wandering 
forlorn  mortal  can  well  imagine.  Some  of  your  expressions  affect 
me  almost  to  weakness,  I  might  say  with  pain,  if  I  did  not  hope  the 
course  of  events  will  change  our  feelings  from  anxiety  to  congratu- 
lation, from  soothing  adversity  to  adorning  prosperity.  I  marked 
your  disconsolate  look.  It  has  often  since  been  painted  in  the  mind's 
eye ;  but  believe  me,  my  boy,  these  days  will  pass  over.  We  shall 
all  get  to  rights  in  good  time,  and,  long  after,  cheer  many  a  winter 
evening  by  recalling  such  pensive,  but  yet  amiable  and  manly 
thoughts  to  our  minds.  And  in  the  mean  while  let  me  utterly 
sweep  away  the  vain  fear  of  our  forgetting  one  another.  There  is 
less  danger  of  this  than  of  anything.  We  Carlyles  are  a  clannish  peo- 
ple, because  we  have  all  something  original  in  our  formation,  and 
nnd  therefore  less  than  common  sympathy  with  others;  so  that  we 
are  constrained,  as  it  were,  to  draw  to  one  another,  and  to  seek  that 
friendship  in  our  own  blood  which  we  do  not  find  so  readily  else- 
where. Jack  and  I  and  you  will  respect  one  another  to  the  end  of 
our  lives,  because  I  predict  that  our  conduct  will  be  worthy  of  re- 
spect, and  we  will  love  one  another,  because  the  feelings  of  our  young 
days — feelings  impressed  most  deeply  on  the  young  heart — are  all 
intertwined  and  united  by  the  tenderest  yet  strongest  ties  of  our 
nature.  But  independently  of  this  your  feat  is  vain.  Continue  to 
cultivate  your  abilities,  and  to  behave  steadily  and  quietly  as  you 
have  done,  and  neither  of  the  two  literati '  are  likely  to  find  many 

'  His  brother  John  and  himself. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  63 

persons  more  qualified  to  appreciate  their  feelings  than  the  farmer 
their  brother.  Greek  words  and  Latin  are  fine  things,  but  they  can- 
not hide  the  emptiness  and  lowness  of  many  who  employ  them. 

' '  Brewster  has  printed  my  article.  He  is  a  pushing  man  and  speaks 
encouragingly  to  me.  Tait,  the  bookseller,  is  loud  in  his  kind  an- 
ticipations of  the  grand  things  that  are  in  store  for  me.  But,  in  fact, 
I  do  not  lend  much  ear  to  those  gentlemen.  I  feel  quite  sick  of  this 
drivelling  state  of  painful  idleness.  I  am  going  to  be  patient  no 
longer,  but  quitting  study,  or  leaving  it  in  a  secondary  place,  I  feel 
determined,  as  it  were,  to  find  something  stationary,  some  local  habi- 
tation and  some  name  for  myself,  ere  it  be  long.  I  shall  turn  and 
try  all  things,  be  diligent,  be  assiduous  in  season  and  out  of  season, 
to  effect  this  prudent  purpose ;  and  if  health  stay  with  me  I  still 
trust  I  shall  succeed.  At  worst  it  is  but  narrowing  my  views  to 
suit  my  means.  I  shall  enter  the  writing  life,  the  mercantile,  the 
lecturing,  any  life  in  short  but  that  of  country  school-master;  and 
even  that  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  fate  rather  than  stand  here 
in  frigid  impotence,  the  powers  of  my  mind  all  festering  and  cor- 
roding each  other  in  the  miserable  strife  of  inward  will  against  out- 
ward necessity. 

"  I  lay  out  my  heart  before  you,  my  boy,  because  it  is  solacing  for 
me  to  do  so;  but  I  would  not  have  you  think  me  depressed.  Bad 
health  does  indeed  depress  and  undermine  one  more  than  all  other 
calamities  put  together;  but  with  care,  which  I  have  the  best  of  all 
reasons  for  taking,  I  know  this  will  in  time  get  out  of  danger. 
Steady  then,  steady !  as  the  drill-sergeants  say.  Let  us  be  steady 
unto  the  end.  In  due  time  we  shall  reap  if  we  faint  not.  Long 
may  you  continue  to  cherish  the  manly  feelings  which  you  express 
in  conclusion.  They  lead  to  respectability  at  least  from  the  world, 
and,  what  is  far  better,  to  sunshine  within,  which  nothing  can  destroy 
or  eclipse." 

In  the  same  packet  Carlyle  encloses  a  letter  to  his  mother : 

"I  know  well  and  feel  deeply  that  you  entertain  the  most  solici- 
tous anxiety  about  my  temporal,  and  still  more  about  my  eternal 
welfare;  as  to  the  former  of  which,  I  have  still  hopes  that  all  your 
tenderness  will  j-et  be  repaid ;  and  as  to  the  latter,  though  it  becomes 
not  the  human  worm  to  boast,  I  would  fain  persuade  you  not  to  en- 
tertain so  many  doubts.  Your  character  and  mine  are  far  more 
similar  than  you  imagine  ;  and  our  opinions  too,  though  clothed  in 
different  garbs,  are,  I  well  know,  still  analogous  at  bottom.  I  respect 
your  religious  sentiments,  and  honor  you  for  feeling  them  more  than 
if  you  were  the  highest  woman  in  the  world  without  them.  Be 
easy,  I  entreat  you,  on  my  account ;  the  world  will  use  me  better 
than  before;  and  if  it  should  not,  let  us  hope  to  meet  in  that  upper 
country,  when  the  vain  fever  of  life  is  gone  by,  in  the  country  where 
all  darkness  shall  be  light,  and  where  the  exercise  of  our  affections 
will  not  be  thwarted  by  the  infirmities  of  human  nature  any  more. 
Brewster  will  give  me  articles  enough.  Meanwhile  my  living  here 
is  not  to  cost  me  anything,  at  least  for  a  season  more  or  less.  I  have 
two  hours  of  teaching,  which  both  gives  me  a  call  to  walk  and 
brings  in  four  guineas  a  month." 


54  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Again,  a  few  weeks  later  : 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle. 

"January  30, 1821. 

"My  employment,  you  are  aware,  is  still  very  fluctuating,  but  this 
I  trust  will  improve.  I  am  advancing,  I  think,  though  leisurely,  and 
at  last  I  feel  no  insuperable  doubts  of  getting  honest  bread,  which  is 
all  I  want.  For  as  to  fame  and  all  that,  I  see  it  already  to  be  noth- 
ing better  than  a  meteor,  a  will-o'-the-wisp  which  leads  one  on 
through  quagmires  and  pitfalls  to  catch  an  object  which,  when  we 
have  caught  it,  turns  out  to  be  nothing.  I  am  happy  to  think  in  the 
mean  time  that  you  do  not  feel  uneasy  about  my  future  destiny. 
Providence,  as  you  observe,  will  order  it  better  or  worse,  and  with 
His  award,  so  nothing  mean  or  wicked  lie  before  me,  I  shall  study  to 
rest  satisfied. 

"It  is  a  striking  thing,  and  an  alarming  to  those  who  are  at  ease 
in  the  world,  to  think  how  many  living  beings  that  had  breath  and 
hope  within  them  when  I  left  Ecclefechan  are  now  numbered  with 
the  clods  of  the  valley!  Surely  there  is  something  obstinately  stupid 
in  the  heart  of  man,  or  the  flight  of  threescore  years,  and  the  poor 
joys  or  poorer  cares  of  this  our  pilgrimage  would  never  move  as 
they  do.  Why  do  we  fret  and  murmur,  and  toil,  and  consume  our- 
selves for  objects  so  transient  and  frail?  Is  it  that  the  soul,  living 
here  as  in  her  prison-house,  strives  after  something  boundless  like 
herself,  and  finding  it  nowhere,  still  renews  the  search?  Surety  we 
are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  But  I  must  not  pursue  these 
speculations,  though  they  force  themselves  upon  us  sometimes  even 
without  our  asking." 

To  his  family  Carlyle  made  the  best  of  his  situation;  and,  indeed, 
so  far  as  outward  circumstances  were  concerned,  there  was  no  spe- 
cial cause  for  anxiety.  His  farm-house  training  had  made  him  indif- 
ferent to  luxuries,  and  he  was  earning  as  much  money  as  he  required. 
It  was  not  here  that  the  pinch  lay;  it  was  in  the  still  uncompleted 
"temptations  in  the  wilderness,"  in  the  mental  uncertainties  which 
gave  him  neither  peace  nor  respite.  He  had  no  friend  in  Edinburgh 
with  whom  he  could  exchange  thoughts,  and  no  society  to  amuse  or 
distract  him.  And  those  who  knew  his  condition  best,  the  faithful 
Irving  especially,  became  seriously  alarmed  for  him.  So  keenly 
Irving  felt  the  danger,  that  in  December  he  even  invited  Carlyle  to 
give  up  Edinburgh  and  be  his  own  guest  for  an  indefinite  time  at 
Glasgow : 

"You  make  me  too  proud  of  myself  [he  wrote]  when  you  con- 
nect me  so  much  with  your  happiness.  Would  that  I  could  contrib- 
ute to  it  as  I  most  fondly  wish,  and  one  of  the  richest  and  most 
powerful  minds  I  know  should  not  now  be  struggling  with  obscurity 
and  a  thousand  obstacles.  And  yet  if  I  had  the  power  I  do  not  see 
by  what  means  I  should  cause  it  to  be  known ;  your  mind,  unfortu- 
nately for  its  present  peace,  has  taken  in  so  wide  a  range  of  study  as 
to  be  almost  incapable  of  professional  trammels;  and  it  has  nourish- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  55 

ed  so  uncommon  and  so  unyielding  a  character  as  first  unfits  you 
for,  and  then  disgusts  you  with,  any  accommodations  which  would 
procure  favor  and  patronage.  The  race  which  you  have  run  these 
last  years  pains  me  even  to  think  upon  it,  and  if  it  should  be  con- 
tinued a  little  longer,  I  pray  God  to  give  you  strength  to  endure  it. 
We  calculate  upon  seeing  you  at  Christmas,  and  till  then  you  can 
think  of  what  I  now  propose — that  instead  of  wearying  yourself 
with  endless  vexations  which  are  more  than  you  can  bear,  you  will 
consent  to  spend  not  a  few  weeks,  but  a  few  months,  here  under  my 
roof,  where  enjoying  at  least  wholesome  conversation  and  the  sight 
of  real  friends,  you  may  undertake  some  literary  employment  which 
may  present  you  in  a  fairer  aspect  to  the  public  than  any  you 
have  hitherto  taken  before  them.  Now  I  know  it  is  quite  Scottish 
for  you  to  refuse  this  upon  the  score  of  troubling  me :  but  trouble  to 
me  it  is  none;  and  if  it  were  a  thousand  times  more,  would  I  not  es- 
teem it  well  bestowed  upon  you  and  most  highly  rewarded  by  your 
company  and  conversation  ?  I  should  esteem  it  an  honor  that  your 
iirst  sally  in  arms  went  forth  from  my  habitation." 

Well  might  Carlyle  cherish  Irving's  memory.  Never  had  he  or 
any  man  a  truer -hearted,  more  generous  friend.  The  offer  could 
not  be  accepted.  Carlyle  was  determined  before  all  things  to  earn 
his  own  bread,  and  he  would  not  abandon  his  pupil  work.  Christ- 
mas he  did  spend  at  Glasgow,  but  he  was  soon  back  again.  He  was 
corresponding  now  with  London  booksellers,  offering  a  complete 
translation  of  Schiller  for  one  thing,  to  which  the  answer  had  been 
an  abrupt  No.  Captain  Basil  Hall,  on  the  other  hand,  having  heard 
of  Carlyle,  tried  to  attach  him  to  himself,  as  a  sort  of  scientific  com- 
panion on  easy  terms  —  Carlyle  to  do  observations  which  Captain 
Hall  was  to  send  to  the  Admiralty  as  his  own,  and  to  have  in  return 
the  advantage  of  philosophical  society,  etc. ,  to  which  his  answer  had 
in  like  manner  been  negative.  His  letters  show  him  still  suffering 
from  mental  fever,  though  with  glimpses  of  purer  light : 

TJiomas  Carlyle  to  John  Carlyle. 

"  Edinburgh :  March  9, 1821. 

"  It  is  a  shame  and  misery  to  me  at  this  age  to  be  gliding  about  in 
strenuous  idleness,  with  no  hand  in  the  game  of  life  where  I  have 
yet  so  much  to  win,  no  outlet  for  the  restless  faculties  which  are 
there  up  in  mutiny  and  slaying  one  another  for  lack  of  fair  enemies. 
I  must  do  or  die  then,  as  the  song  goes.  Edinburgh,  with  all  its 
drawbacks,  is  the  only  scene  for  me.  In  the  country  I  am  like  an 
alien,  a  stranger  and  pilgrim  from  a  far-distant  land.  I  must  en- 
deavor most  sternly,  for  this  state  of  things  cannot  last,  and  if  Health 
do  but  revisit  me  as  I  know  she  will,  it  shall  erelong  give  place  to  a 
better.  If  I  grow  seriously  ill,  indeed,  it  will  be  different;  but  when 
once  the  weather  is  settled  and  dry,  exercise  and  care  will  restore  me 
completely.  I  am  considerably  clearer  than  I  was,  and  I  should  have 
been  still  more  so  had  not  this  afternoon  been  wet,  and  so  prevented 


56  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

me  from  breathing  the  air  of  Arthur's  Seat,  a  mountain  close  beside 
us,  where  the  atmosphere  is  pure  as  a  diamond,  and  the  prospect 
grander  than  any  you  ever  saw.  The  blue  majestic  everlasting  ocean, 
with  the  Fife  hills  swelling  gradually  into  the  Grampians  behind; 
rough  crags  and  rude  precipices  at  our  feet  (where  not  a  hillock  rears 
its  head  unsung),  with  Edinburgh  at  their  base  clustering  proudly 
over  her  rugged  foundations,  and  covering  with  a  vapory  mantle  the 
jagged,  black,  venerable  masses  of  stone-work  that  stretch  far  and 
wide  and  show  like  a  city  of  Fairy-land.  ...  I  saw  it  all  last  evening 
when  the  sun  was  going  down,  and  the  moon's  fine  crescent,  like  a 
pretty  silver  creature  as  it  is,  was  riding  quietly  above  me.  Such  a 
sight  does  one  good.  But  I  am  leading  you  astray  after  my  fantasies 
when  I  should  be  inditing  plain  prose." 

The  gloomy  period  of  Carlyle's  life — a  period  on  which  he  said 
that  he  ever  looked  back  with  a  kind  of  horror — was  drawing  to  its 
close,  this  letter  among  other  symptoms  showing  that  the  natural 
strength  of  his  intellect  was  asserting  itself.  Better  prospects  were 
opening;  more  regular  literary  employment;  an  offer,  if  he  chose  to 
accept  it,  from  his  friend  Mr.  Swan,  of  a  tutorship  at  least  more  sat- 
isfactory than  the  Yorkshire  one.  His  mother's  affection  was  more 
precious  to  him,  however  simply  expressed,  than  any  other  form  of 
earthly  consolation. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"ilainhill:  March  21, 1821. 

"Son  Tom, — I  received  your  kind  and  pleasant  letter.  Nothing 
is  more  satisfying  to  me  than  to  hear  of  your  welfare.  Keep  up  your 
heart,  my  brave  boy.  You  ask  kindly  after  my  health.  I  complain 
as  little  as  possible.  When  the  day  is  cheerier,  it  has  a  great  effect 
on  me.  But  upon  the  whole  I  am  as  well  as  I  can  expect,  thank 
God.  I  have  sent  a  little  butter  and  a  few  cakes  with  a  box  to  bring 
home  your  clothes.  Send  them  all  home,  that  I  may  wash  and  sort 
them  once  more.  Oh,  man,  could  I  but  write!  I'll  tell  ye  a'  when 
we  meet,  but  I  must  in  the  mean  time  content  myself.  Do  send  me 
a  long  letter;  it  revives  me  greatly;  and  tell  me  honestly  if  you  read 
your  chapter  e'en  and  morn,  lad.  You  mind  I  hod  if  not  your  hand, 
I  hod  your  foot  of  it.  Tell  me  if  there  is  anything  you  want  in  par- 
ticular. I  must  run  to  pack  the  box,  so  I  am 

"  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"MABGAKET  CARLYLE." 

Irving  was  still  anxious.  To  him  Carlyle  laid  himself  bare  in  all 
his  shifting  moods,  now  complaining,  now  railing  at  himself  for  want 
of  manliness.  Irving  soothed  him  as  he  could,  always  avoiding 
preachment. 

"I  see  [he  wrote]1  you  have  much  to  bear,  and  perhaps  it  may 
be  a  time  before  you  clear  yourself  of  that  sickness  of  the  heart 

»  March  15, 182L 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  57 

which  afflicts  you;  but  strongly  I  feel  assured  it  will  not  master  you; 
that  you  will  rise  strongly  above  it  and  reach  the  place  your  genius 
destines  you  to.  Most  falsely  do  you  judge  yourself  when  you  seek 
such  degrading  similitudes  to  represent  what  you  call  your  '  whin- 
ing. '  And  I  pray  you  may  not  again  talk  of  your  distresses  in  so 
desperate,  and  to  me  disagreeable,  manner.  My  dear  Sir,  is  it  to  be 
doubted  that  you  are  suffering  grievously  the  want  of  spiritual  com- 
munion, the  bread-and-water  of  the  soul  ?  and  why,  then,  do  you, 
as  it  were,  mock  at  your  calamity  or  treat  it  jestingly?  I  declare 
this  is  a  sore  offence.  You  altogether  mistake  at  least  my  feeling  if 
you  think  I  have  anything  but  the  kindest  sympathy  in  your  case, 
in  which  sympathy  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  degrading,  either  to 
you  or  to  me.  Else  were  I  degraded  every  time  I  visit  a  sick-bed  in 
endeavoring  to  draw  forth  the  case  of  a  sufferer  from  his  own  lips, 
that  I  may  "if  possible  administer  some  spiritual  consolation.  But 
oh !  I  would  be  angry,  or  rather  I  should  have  a  shudder  of  unnat- 
ural feeling,  if  the  sick  man  were  to  make  a  mockery  to  me  of  his 
case,  or  to  deride  himself  for  making  it  known  to  any  physician  of 
body  or  mind.  Excuse  my  freedom,  Carlyle.  I  do  this  in  justifica- 
tion of  my  own  state  of  mind  towards  your  distress.  I  feel  for  your 
condition  as  a  brother  would  feel,  and  to  see  you  silent  about  it  were 
the  greatest  access  of  painful  emotion  which  you  could  cause  me. 
I  hope  soon  to  look  back  with  you  over  this  scene  of  trials  as  the 
soldier  does  over  a  hard  campaign,  or  the  restored  captives  do  over 
their  days  of  imprisonment. " 

Again,  on  the  receipt  of  some  better  account  of  his  friend's  condi- 
tion, Irving  wrote,  on  April  26 : 

"I  am  beginning  to  see  Hie  dawn  of  the  day  when  you  shall  be 
plucked  by  the  literary  world  from  my  solitary,  and  therefore  more 
clear,  admiration;  and  when  from  almost  a  monopoly  I  shall  have 
nothing  but  a  mere  shred  of  your  praise.  They  will  unearth  you, 
and  for  your  sake  I  will  rejoice,  though  for  my  own  I  may  regret. 
But  I  shall  always  have  the  pleasant  superiority  that  I  was  your 
friend  and  admirer,  through  good  and  through  bad  report,  to  con- 
tinue, so  I  hope,  unto  the  end.  Yet  our  honest  Demosthenes,1  or 
shall  I  call  him  Chrysostom  (Boanerges  would  fit  him  better),  seems 
to  have  caught  some  glimpse  of  your  inner  man,  though  he  had  few 
opportunities,  for  he  never  ceases  to  be  inquiring  after  you.  You 
will  soon  shift  your  quarters,  though  for  the  present  I  think  your 
motto  should  be,  'Better  a  wee  bush  than  na  bield.'  If  you  are  go- 
ing to  revert  to  teaching  again,  which  I  heartily  deprecate,  I  know 
nothing  better  than  Swan's  conception,  although 'success  in  it  de- 
pends mainly  upon  offset  and  address,  and  the  studying  of  humors, 
which,  though  it  be  a  good  enough  way  of  its  kind,  is  not  the  way 
to  which  I  think  you  should  yet  condescend." 

Friends  and  family  might  console  and  advise,  but  Carlyle  himself 
could  alone  conquer  the  spiritual  maladies  which  were  the  real  cause 

»  Dr.  Chalmers. 


68  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  his  distraction.  In  June  of  this  year  1821  was  transacted  what 
in  "Sartor  Resartus"  he  describes  as  his  "conversion,"  or  "new 
birth,"  when  he  "authentically  took  the  Devil  by  the  nose,"  when 
he  began  to  achieve  the  convictions,  positive  and  negative,  by  which 
the  whole  of  his  later  life  was  governed. 

"Nothing  in  '  Sartor  Resartus'  [he  says]  is  fact;  symbolical  myth 
all,  except  that  of  the  incident  in  tiie  Rue  St.  Thomas  de  1'Enfer, 
which  occurred  quite  literally  to  myself  in  Leith  Walk,  during  three 
weeks  of  total  sleeplessness,  in  which  almost  my  one  solace  was  that 
of  a  daily  bathe  on  the  sands  between  Leith  and  Portobello.  Inci- 
dent was  as  I  went  down  ;  coming  up  I  generally  felt  refreshed  for 
the  hour.  I  remember  it  well,  and  could  go  straight  to  about  the 
place." 

As  the  incident  is  thus  authenticated,  I  may  borrow  the  words  in 
which  it  is  described,  opening,  as  it  does,  a  window  into  Cariyle's 
inmost  heart : 

"  Shut  out  from  hope  in  a  deeper  sense  than  we  yet  dream  of  (for 
as  the  professor  wanders  wearisomely  through  this  world,  he  has 
lost  all  tidings  of  another  and  a  higher),  full  of  religion,  or  at  least 
of  religiosity,  as  our  friend  has  since  exhibited  himself,  he  hides  not 
that  in  those  days  he  was  totally  irreligious.  '  Doubt  had  darkened 
into  unbelief,'  says  he  :  'shade  after  shade  goes  grimly  over  your 
soul,  till  you  have  the  fixed  starless  Tartarean  black.'  To  such 
readers  as  have  reflected  (what  can  be  called  reflecting)  on  man's 
life,  and  happily  discovered,  in  contradiction  to  much  profit  and  less 
philosophy,  that  soul  is  not  synonymous  with  stomach,  who  under- 
stand, therefore,  in  our  friend's  words,  '  that  for  man's  well-being 
faith  is  properly  the  one  thing  needful ;  how  with  it  martyrs,  other- 
wise weak,  can  cheerfully  endure  the  shame  and  the  cross,  and  with- 
out it  worldlings  puke  up  their  sick  existence  by  suicide  in  the  midst 
of  luxury;'  to  such  it  will  be  clear  that  for  a  pure  moral  nature  the 
loss  of  his  religious  belief  was  the  loss  of  everything.  Unhappy 
young  man!  All  wounds,  the  crush  of  long-continued  destitution, 
the  stab  of  false  friendship  and  of  false  love,  all  wounds  in  thy  so 
genial  heart,  would  have  healed  again,  had  not  its  life-warmth  been 
withdrawn.  Well  might  he  exclaim  in  his  wild  way:  '  Is  there  no 
God  then  ?  but,  at  best,  an  absentee  God  sitting  idle  ever  since  the 
first  Sabbath,  at  the  outside  of  his  universe,  and  seeing  it  go  ?  Has 
the  word  "duty"  no  meaning?  Is  what  we  call  Duty  no  divine 
messenger  and  guide,  but  a  false  earthly  phantasm,  made'up  of  desire 
and  fear,  of  emanations  from  the  gallows  and  Dr.  Graham's  celestial 
bed  ?  Happiness  of  an  approving  conscience  !  Did  not  Paul  of 
Tarsus,  whom  admiring  men  have  since  named  saint,  feel  that  he 
AVUS  the  chief  of  sinners  ;  and  Nero  of  Rome,  jocund  in  spirit,  spend 
much  of  his  time  in  fiddling  ?  Foolish  wordmonger  and  motive 
grinder,  who  in  thy  logic  mill  hast  an  earthly  mechanism  for  the 
god-like  itself,  and  wouldst  fain  grind  me  out  virtue  from  the  husks 
of  pleasure.  I  tell  thee  Nay!  To  the  unregenerate  Prometheus 
Vinctus  of  a  man  it  is  ever  the  bitterest  aggravation  of  his  wretch- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  59 

edncss  that  lie  is  conscious  of  virtue,  that  he  feels  himself  the  victim 
not  of  suffering  only,  but  of  injustice.  What  then  ?  Is  the  heroic 
inspiration  we  name  Virtue  but  some  passion,  some  bubble  of  the 
blood  bubbling  in  the  direction  others  profit  by  ?  I  know  not;  only 
this  I  know.  If  what  thou  namest  Happiness  is  pur  true  aim,  then 
are  we  all  astray.  With  stupidity  and  sound  digestion  man  may 
front  much.  But  what  in  these  dull  imaginative  days  are  the  ter- 
rors of  conscience  to  the  diseases  of  the  liver  !  Not  on  morality  but 
on  cookery  let  us  build  our  stronghold.  Then  brandishing  our  fry- 
ing-pan as  censer,  let  us  offer  sweet  incense  to  the  Devil,  and  lie  at 
ease  on  the  fat  things  he  has  provided  for  his  elect !' 

' '  Thus  has  the  bewildered  wanderer  to  stand,  as  so  many  have 
done,  shouting  question  after  question  into  the  Sibyl- cave  of  destiny, 
and  receive  no  answer  but  an  echo.  .  .  .  No  pillar  of  cloud  by  day 
and  no  pillar  of  fire  by  night  any  longer  guides  the  pilgrim.  To 
such  length  has  the  spirit  of  inquiry  carried  him.  '  But  what  boots 
it  ?'  cries  he  ;  '  it  is  but  the  common  lot  in  this  era.  Not  having 
come  to  spiritual  majority  prior  to  the  "Siecle  de  Louis  Quinze," 
and  not  being  born  purely  a  loghead,  thou  hadst  no  other  outlook. 
The  whole  world  is  like  thee  sold  to  unbelief.  Their  old  temples  of 
the  godhead,  which  for  long  have  not  been  rain-proof,  crumble  down ; 
and  men  ask  now,  where  is  the  godhead  ;  our  eyes  never  saw  him.' 

"Pitiful  enough  were  it  for  all  these  wild  utterances  to  call  our 
Diogenes  wicked.  Unprofitable  servants  as  we  all  are,  perhaps  at 
no  era  of  his  life  was  he  more  decisively  the  servant  of  goodness, 
the  servant  of  God,  than  even  now  when  doubting  God's  existence. 
'  One  circumstance  I  note,'  says  he  ;  '  after  all  the  nameless  woe  that 
Inquiry,  which  for  me,  what  it  is  not  always,  was  genuine  love  of 
truth,  had  wrought  me,  I  nevertheless  still  loved  Truth,  and  would 
bate  no  jot  of  my  allegiance  to  her.'  '  Truth !'  I  cried,  '  though  the 
heavens  crush  me  for  following  her :  no  Falsehood  !  though  a  whole 
celestial  Lubberland  were  the  price  of  apostasy.'  In  conduct  it  was 
the  same.  Had  a  divine  messenger  from  the  clouds,  or  miraculous 
handwriting  on  the  wall,  convincingly  proclaimed  to  me  This  thou 
shalt  do,  with  what  passionate  readiness,  as  I  often  thought,  would  I 
have  done  it,  had  it  been  leaping  into  the  infernal  fire.  Thus  in 
spite  of  all  motive  grinders  and  mechanical  profit  and  loss  philoso- 
phies, with  the  sick  ophthalmia  and  hallucination  they  had  brought 
on,  was  the  infinite  nature  of  duty  still  dimly  present  to  me  :  living 
without  God  in  the  world,  of  God's  light  I  was  not  utterly  bereft. 
If  my  as  yet  sealed  eyes  with  their  unspeakable  longing  could  no- 
where see  Him,  nevertheless  in  my  heart  He  was  present,  and  his 
Heaven-written  law  still  stood  legible  and  sacred  there.' 

' '  Meanwhile,  under  all  these  tribulations  and  temporal  and  spiritual 
destitutions,  what  must  the  wanderer  in  his  silent  soul  have  endured ! 

"The  painfullest  feeling  [writes  he]  is  that  of  your  own  feeble- 
ness; even  as  the  English  Milton  says,  '  to  be  weak  is  the  true  misery.' 
And  yet  of  your  strength  there  is  and  can  be  no  clear  feeling,  save 
by  what  you  have  prospered  in,  by  what  you  have  done.  Between 
vague  wavering  capability  and  fixed  indubitable  performance,  what 
a  difference !  A  certain  inarticulate  self -consciousness  dwells  dimly 
in  us,  which  only  our  works  can  render  articulate  and  decisively 


60  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

discernible.  Our  works  are  the  mirror  wherein  the  spirit  first  sees 
its  natural  lineaments.  Hence,  too,  the  folly  of  that  impossible  pre- 
cept, Know  thyself,  till  it  be  translated  into  this  partially  possible  one, 
Know  what  thou  canst  work  at. 

"But  for  me,  so  strangely  unprosperous  had  I  been,  the  net  result 
of  my  workings  amounted  as  yet  simply  to — nothing.  How,  then, 
could  I  believe  in  my  strength  when  there  was  as  yet  no  mirror  to 
see  it  in?  Ever  did  this  agitating,  <xet,  as  I  now  perceive,  quite  friv- 
olous question  remain  to  me  insoluble :  Hast  thou  a  certain  faculty, 
a  certain  worth,  such  as  even  the  most  have  not;  or  art  thou  the 
completest  dullard  of  these  modern  times?  Alas,  the  fearful  unbe- 
lief is  unbelief  in  yourself!  and  how  could  I  believe?  Had  not  my 
first  last  faith  in  myself,  when  even  to  me  the  heavens  seemed  laid 
open,  and  I  dared  to  love,  been  all  too  cruelly  belied?  The  specula- 
tive mystery  of  life  grew  ever  more  mysterious  to  me:  neither  in 
the  practical  mystery  had  I  made  the  slightest  progress,  but  been 
everywhere  buffeted,  foiled,  and  contemptuously  cast  out.  A  feeble 
unit  in  the  middle  of  a  threatening  infinitude,  I  seemed  to  have 
nothing^  given  me  but  eyes  whereby  to  discern  my  own  wretched- 
ness. Invisible  yet  impenetrable  walls,  as  of  enchantment,  divided 
me  from  all  living.  Now  when  I  looked  back  it  was  a  strange  iso- 
lation I  then  lived  in.  The  men  and  women  round  me,  even  speak- 
ing with  me,  were  but  figures;  I  had  practically  forgotten  that  they 
were  alive,  that  they  were  not  merely  automatic.  In  the  midst  of 
their  crowded  streets  and  assemblages  I  walked  solitary,  and  (ex- 
cept as  it  was  my  own  heart,  not  another's,  that  I  kept  devouring), 
savage  also  as  the  tiger  in  his  jungle.  Some  comfort  it  would  have 
been  could  I,  like  Faust,  have  fancied  myself  tempted  and  torment- 
ed of  the  devil ;  for  a  hell  as  I  imagine,  without  life,  though  only 
diabolic  life,  were  more  frightful:  but  in  our  age  of  downpulling 
and  disbelief,  the  very  devil  has  been  pulled  down;  you  cannot  so 
much  as  believe  in  a  devil.  To  me  the  universe  was  all  void  of  life, 
of  purpose,  of  volition,  even  of  hostility:  it  was  one  huge,  dead, 
immeasurable  steam-engine,  rolling  on  in  its  dead  indifference,  to 
grind  me  limb  from  limb.  Oh,  the  vast,  gloomy,  solitary  Golgotha 
and  mill  of  death !  Why  was  the  living  banished  thither  companion- 
less,  conscious?  Why,  if  there  is  no  devil,  nay,  unless  the  devil  is 
your  god?  .  .  .  From  suicide  a  certain  aftershine  (Nachschcin)  of 
Christianity  withheld  me,  perhaps  also  a  certain  indolence  of  char- 
acter; for  was  not  that  a  remedy  I  had  at  any  time  within  reach? 
Often,  however,  there  was  a  question  present  to  me :  should  some  one 
now  at  the  turning  of  that  corner  blow  thee  suddenly  out  of  space 
into  the  other  world  or  other  no-world  by  pistol-shot,  how  were  it?  .  .  . 

"  So  had  it  lasted,  as  in  bitter  protracted  death-agony,  through  long 
years.  The  heart  within  me,  unvisited  by  any  heavenly  dew-drop, 
was  smouldering  in  sulphurous  slow-consuming  fire.  Almost  since 
earliest  memory  I  had  shed  no  tear;  or  once  only  when  I,  murmur- 
ing half  audibly,  recited  Faust's  death-song,  that  wild  '  Selig  der, 
den  er  iru  Siegesglanze  fiudet,'  Happy  whom  he  finds  in  battle's 
splendor,  and  thought  that  of  this  last  friend  even  I  was  not  for- 
saken, that  destiny  itself  could  not  doom  me  not  to  die.  Having 
no  hope,  neither  had  I  any  definite  fear,  were  it  of  mail  or  devil ; 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  61 

nay,  I  often  felt  as  if  it  might  be  solacing  could  the  arch-devil  him- 
self, though  in  Tartarean  terrors,  but  rise  to  me,  that  I  might  tell 
him  a  little  of  my  mind.  And  yet,  strangely  enough,  I  lived  in  a 
continual  indefinite  pining  fear;  tremulous,  pusillanimous  apprehen- 
sion of  I  knew  not  what.  It  seemed  as  if  all  things  in  the  heavens 
above  and  the  earth  beneath  would  hurt  me ;  as  if  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  were  but  boundless  jaws  of  a  devouring  monster,  wherein 
I  palpitating  waited  to  be  devoured. 

"Full  of  such  humor  was  I  one  sultry  dog-day  after  much  peram- 
bulation toiling  along  the  dirty  little  Rue  St.  Thomas  de  1'Enfer  in  a 
close  atmosphere  and  over  pavements  hot  as  Nebuchadnezzar's  fur- 
nace ;  whereby  doubtless  my  spirits  were  little  cheered ;  when  all  at 
once  there  rose  a  thought  in  me,  and  I  asked  myself,  '  What  art  thou 
afraid  of?  wherefore,  like  a  coward,  dost  thou  for  ever  pip  and 
whimper,  and  go  cowering  and  trembling?  Despicable  biped !  what 
is  the  sum  total  of  the  worst  that  lies  before  thee?  Death?  Well, 
death;  and  say  the  pangs  of  Tophet  too,  and  all  that  the  devil  and 
man  may,  will,  or  can  do  against  thee!  Hast  thou  not  a  heart?  canst 
thou  not  suffer  whatsoever  it  be ;  and  as  a  child  of  freedom,  though 
outcast,  trample  Tophet  itself  under  thy  feet,  while  it  consumes  thee? 
Let  it  come,  then,  and  I  will  meet  it  and  defy  it.'  And  as  I  so 
thought,  there  rushed  like  a  stream  of  fire  over  my  whole  soul,  and  I 
shook  base  fear  away  from  me  forever.  I  was  strong;  of  unknown 
strength;  a  spirit;  almost  a  god.  Ever  from  that  time  the  temper  of 
my  misery  was  changed ;  not  fear  or  whining  sorrow  was  it,  but  in- 
dignation and  grim  fire-eyed  defiance. 

"  Thus  had  the  everlasting  No  ('  das  ewige  Nein ')  pealed  authori- 
tatively through  all  the  recesses  of  my  being,  of  my  ME;  and  then  it 
was  that  my  whole  ME  stood  up  in  native  God-created  majesty,  and 
with  emphasis  recorded  its  protest.  Such  a  protest,  the  most  impor- 
tant transaction  in  my  life,  may  that  same  indignation  and  defiance, 
in  a  psychological  point  of  view,  be  fitly  called.  The  everlasting 
No  had  said,  Behold,  thou  art  fatherless,  outcast,  and  the  universe 
is  mine  (the  devil's);  to  which  my  whole  ME  now  made  answer:  / 
am  not  thine  but  free,  and  forever  hate  thee. 

"It  is  from  this  hour  I  incline  to  date  my  spiritual  new  birth; 
perhaps  I  directly  thereupon  began  to  be  a  man."1 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
A.D.  1821.     MT.  26. 

CRAIGENPUTTOCK,  craig,  or  whinstone  hill  of  the  puttocks,2  is  a 
high  moorland  farm  on  the  water-shed  between  Dumfriesshire  and 
Galloway,  sixteen  miles  from  the  town  of  Dumfries.  The  manor 

i  "Sartor,"  p.  156  et  seq. 

a  Small  hawks,  so  named  still  in  Galloway,  and  once  throughout  England. 

"  Who  finds  the  partridge  in  the  puttock's  nest, 
But  may  imagine  how  the  bird  was  dead." — SHAKESPEARE. 


62  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

house,  solid  and  gaunt,  and  built  to  stand  for  centuries,  lies  on  a 
slope  protected  by  a  plantation  of  pines,  and  surrounded  by  a  few 
acres  of  reclaimed  grass  land — a  green  island  in  the  midst  of  heath- 
cry  hills,  sheep-walks,  and  undrained  peat  bogs.  A  sterner  spot  is 
hardly  to  be  found  in  Scotland.  Here  for  many  generations  had 
resided  a  family  of  Welshes,  holding  the  rank  of  small  gentry.  The 
eldest  son  bore  always  the  same  name — John  Welsh  had  succeeded 
John  Welsh  as  far  back  as  tradition'could  record;  the  earliest  John 
of  whom  authentic  memory  remained  being  the  famous  Welsh,  the 
minister  of  Ayr,  who  married  the  daughter  of  John  Knox.  This 
lady  it  was  who,  when  her  husband  was  banished,  and  when  she 
was  told  by  King  James  that  he  might  return  to  Scotland  if  he 
would  acknowledge  the  authority  of  bishops,  raised  her  apron  and 
said,  "Please  your  Majesty  I'd  rather  kep  his  head  there."  The 
King  asked  her  who  she  was.  "  Knox  and  Welsh,"  he  exclaimed, 
when  she  told  him  her  parentage — "  Knox  and  Welsh  !  The  devil 
never  made  such  a  match  as  that."  "  It's  right  like,  sir,"  said  she, 
"for  we  never  speered  his  advice." 

A  family  with  such  an  ancestry  naturally  showed  remarkable 
qualities.  "Several  blackguards  among  them,  but  not  one  block- 
head that  I  ever  heard  of,"  was  the  account  of  her  kinsfolk  given 
to  Jane  Welsh1  by  her  grandfather. 

In  the  rebellion  of  1745  the  laird  of  Craigenputtock  had  been 
among  the  sympathizers,  though  he  escaped  committing  himself. 
Some  of  his  friends  who  had  been  more  deeply  implicated,  had  taken 
shelter  with  him  when  they  were  inquired  for  after  Culloden.  In- 
formers betrayed  their  hiding-place,  and  a  party  of  dragoons  were 
sent  up  from  Dumfries  to  arrest  them.  The  alarm  was  given;  be- 
fore the  dragoons  arrived  the  objects  of  their  pursuit  were  away 
across  the  hills  in  Galloway.  "Such  and  such  men  with  you, 
aren't  they?"  said  the  officer  to  the  laird,  as  he  rode  to  the  door. 
"Truly  they  were  three  hours  ago,"  the  laird  answered;  "and  they 
were  rebels,  say  you?  Fie,  the  villains!  had  I  but  known!  But 
come,  let  us  chase  immediately.  Once  across  the  Orr  yonder,  and 
the  swamps "  (which  looked  green  enough  from  the  house),  "you 
will  find  firm  road,  and  will  soon  catch  the  dogs. "  Welsh  mounted, 
and  volunteered  to  guide;  guided  the  dragoons  into  a  spot  where  he 
and  his  pony,  who  knew  the  road,  could  pass,  and  the  heavy  dra- 
goon horses  sunk  to  their  girths.  Having  provided  them  with  work 
which  would  last  till  dark,  he  professed  profound  regrets,  rode  off, 
and  left  them. 

The  son  of  this  laird  died  young,  leaving  a  widow  at  Craigenput- 
tock with  a  single  child,  another  John,  who  was  born  in  1757.  The 

1  Afterwards  Mrs.  Carlyle. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  63 

mother,  desiring  to  give  the  boy  a  better  education  than  was  to  be 
had  on  the  moors,  sent  him  down  to  a  tutor  in  Nithsdale.  There 
he  fell  in  love  with  a  Miss  Hunter,  daughter  of  a  neighboring  graz- 
ier, and  married  her,  he  being  seventeen  and  the  lady  a  year  younger. 
They  returned  to  the  Craig  together,  and  produced  one  after  the 
other  fourteen  children.  The  large  family  brought  expenses.  The 
income  was  small.  The  laird  drifted  into  difficulties,  sold  part  of 
the  Craigenputtock  property,  and  being  unable  to  make  a  living  out 
of  the  rest,  left  it  and  took  a  farm  by  the  river-side  in  Nith  valley, 
above  Dumfries.  Here  he  was  fairly  successful,  as  indeed  he  de- 
served to  be. 

"A  valiant  sensible  man  [says  Carlyle],  solidly  devout,  truth's 
own  self  in  what  he  said  and  did ;  had  dignity  01  manners  too,  in 
fact  a  really  brave,  sincere,  and  honorable  soul ;  reverent  of  talent, 
honesty,  and  sound  sense  beyond  all  things;  was  silently  respected 
and  honestly  esteemed  in  the  district  where  he  lived." 

' '  Not  however  without  a  grin  here  and  there, "  for  he  had  his  peculiar- 
ities. He  was  a  tall  man  himself;  he  had  a  fixed  notion  that  size  of 
body  and  si/e  of  mind  went  together,  and  he  would  never  admit  a 
new  friend  till  he  had  measured  him.  This  old  John  "Welsh  (or 
Penfillan,  as  he  was  called  from  the  name  of  his  farm)  did  not  die 
till  1823,  outliving  his  distinguished  son  who  was  the  father  of 
Carlyle's  wife. 

This  next  John  Welsh  was  the  eldest  of  the  fourteen.  He  was 
born  at  Craigenputtock  in  1776,  and  spent  his  childish  years  there. 
Scotch  lads  learn  early  to  take  care  of  themselves.  He  was  sent  to 
Edinburgh  University  when  a  mere  lad  to  study  medicine.  While 
attending  the  classes  he  drew  attention  to  himself  by  his  intelligence, 
and  was  taken  as  an  apprentice  by  one  of  the  celebrated  brothers, 
John  or  Charles  Bell.1  Dr.  Bell  saw  his  extraordinary  merit,  and  in 
1796,  when  he  was  but  twenty,  recommended  him  for  a  commission 
as  regimental  surgeon  to  the  Perthshire  Fencibles.  This  post  he 
held  for  two  years,  and  afterwards,  in  1798,  he  succeeded  either  by 
purchase  or  otherwise  to  the  local  practice  of  the  town  and  neigh- 
borhood of  Haddington.  His  reputation  rose  rapidly,  and  along 
with  it  he  made  a  rapid  fortune.  To  help  his  brothers  and  sisters 
he  purchased  Craigenputtock  from  his  father,  without  waiting  till  it 
came  to  him  by  inheritance.  He  paid  off  the  encumbrances,  and 
he  intended  eventually  to  retire  thither  when  he  should  give  up 
business. 

In  1800  Dr.  Welsh  married,  the  wife  whom  he  chose  being  a 
Welsh  also,  though  of  another  family  entirely  unrelated  to  his  own. 

1  Probably  John,  as  Sir  Charles  Bell  was  ouly  two  years  John  Welsh's  senior. 


64  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

She,  too,  if  tradition  might  be  trusted,  came  of  famous  blood.  John 
Welsh  was  descended  from  Knox.  Grace  or  Grizzie  Welsh  traced 
her  pedigree  through  her  mother,  who  was  a  Baillie,  to  Wallace. 
Her  father  was  a  well-to-do  stock  farmer,  then  living  at  Caplegill  on 
Moffat  Water.  Walter  Welsh  (this  was  his  name),  when  his  daugh- 
ter left  him  to  go  to  Haddington,  moved  himself  into  Nithsdale,  and 
took  a  farm  then  known  as  Templand,  near  Penfillan.  Thus  Jane 
Welsh's  two  grandfathers,  old  Walter  and  old  John,  Welshes  both  of 
them,  though  connected  only  through  their  children's  marriage,  be- 
came close  neighbors  and  friends.  Walter  of  Templand  lived  to  a 
great  age,  and  Carlyle  after  his  marriage  knew  him  well.  He  took 
to  Carlyle,  indeed,  from  the  first,  having  but  two  faults  to  find  with 
him,  that  he  smoked  tobacco  and  would  not  drink  whiskey  punch ; 
not  that  old  Walter  drank  to  excess  himself,  or  at  all  cared  for  drink- 
ing, but  he  thought  that  total  abstinence  in  a  young  man  was  a  sign 
of  conceit  or  affectation. 

"He  was  a  man  [Carlyle  writes1]  of  much  singularity  and  intel- 
lect too,  a  microcosm  of  old  Scottish  life  as  it  had  been.  Hot,  im- 
patient temper,  breaking  out  into  flashes  of  lightning  if  you  touched 
him  the  wrong  way;  but  they  were  flashes  only,  never  bolts.  Face 
uncommonly  fine,  serious  yet  laughing  eyes  as  if  inviting  you  in, 
bushy  eyebrows  picturesquely  shaggy,  abundant  gray  hair,  beard 
imperfectly  shaved,  features  massive  yet  soft,  honesty,  quick  inge- 
nuity, kindliness  and  frank  manhood  as  the  general  expression,  a 
most  simple  man  of  stunted  utterance,  burred  with  his  rr's,  had  a 
chewing  kind  of  way  with  his  words  which  rapid  or  few  were  not 
extremely  distinct  till  you  attended  a  little,  and  then  aided  by  the 
face  they  were  distinct  and  memorable.  Clever  things  Walter  never 
said  or  attempted  to  say,  nor  wise  things  either  in  any  shape  beyond 
that  of  sincerely  accepted  commonplace;  but  he  well  knew  when 
such  were  said  by  others,  and  had  a  bright  dimpling  chuckle — smudge 
of  laughter  the  Scotch  call  it,  one  of  the  prettiest  words  and  ditto 
things,  and  on  the  whole  hated  no  kind  of  talk  but  the  unwise  kind. 
He  was  serious,  pensive,  not  mournful  or  sad  in  those  old  times.  He 
had  the  prettiest  laugh  that  I  can  remember,  not  the  loudest.  My 
own  father's  still  rarer  laugh  was  louder  far,  though  not  perhaps 
more  complete.  But  his  was  all  of  artillery  thunder— -feu  de  jaie 
from  all  guns  as  the  main  element;  while  in  Walter  there  was  audi- 
ble something  as  of  infinite  flutes  and  harps,  as  if  the  vanquished 
themselves  were  invited  or  compelled  to  partake  of  the  triumph. 
'  Radiant  ever  young  Apollo,'  etc.,  etc.,  of  Teufelsdrockh's  laugh  is 
a  reminiscence  of  that.  He  had  an  immense  fund  of  articulate  gay- 
ety  in  his  composition,  a  truly  fine  sense  of  the  ridiculous;  excellent 
sense  in  a  man,  especially  if  he  never  cultivate  it  or  be  conscious  of 
it,  as  was  Walter's  case.  It  must  have  been  from  him  that  my  Jane 
derived  that  beautiful  light  humor,  never  going  into  folly,  yet  full 

i  "Reminiscences,'1  vol.  ii.  (abridged). 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  65 

of  tacit  fires  which  spontaneously  illuminated  all  her  best  hours. 
Thanks  to  Walter  !  .  .  .  she  was  like  him  in  this  respect.  My  fa- 
ther's laugh  is  mainly  mine  :  a  grimmer  and  inferior  kind.  Of  my 
mother's  beautifully  sportive  vein  (which  was  a  third  kind,  also 
hereditary  I  am  told)  I  seem  to  have  inherited  less,  though  not  noth- 
ing either,  nay,  perhaps  at  bottom  not  even  less,  had  my  life  chanced 
to  be  easier  and  joyf  uller.  '  Sense  of  the  ridiculous ' — worth  calling 
such — i.  e. ,  brotherly  sympathy  with  the  downward  side,  is  very  in- 
dispensable to  a  man.  Hebrews  have  it  not,  hardly  any  Jew  creat- 
ure— not  even  a  blackguard  Heine  to  any  real  length;  hence  vari- 
ous misqualities  of  theirs,  perhaps  most  of  their  qualities  too  which 
have  become  historical.  This  is  an  old  remark  of  mine,  though  not 
yet  written  anywhere." 

The  beautiful  Miss  Baillie,  Walter's  wife,  who  came  of  Wallace, 
died  early.  Their  son,  called  also  John  (the  many  John  Welshes 
may  cause  some  confusion  in  this  biography  unless  the  reader  can 
remember  the  distinctions),  went  into  business  at  Liverpool,  and  was 
prospering  as  a  merchant  there,  when  a  partner  who  was  to  have 
been  his  brother-in-law  proved  dishonest,  ran  off  with  all  the  prop- 
erty that  he  could  lay  hands  on,  and  left  John  Welsh  to  bankruptcy 
and  a  debt  of  12,000£.  The  creditors  were  lenient,  knowing  how  the 
catastrophe  had  been  brought  about.  John  Welsh  exerted  himself, 
remade  his  fortune,  and  after  eight  years  invited  them  all  to  dinner, 
where  each  found  under  his  cover  a  check  for  the  full  amount  of 
his  claim.  He  was  still  living  at  Liverpool  long  after  Carlyle  set- 
tled in  London  with  his  niece,  and  will  be  heard  of  often  in  her  cor- 
respondence. 

His  sister  Grace,  or  Grizzie,  was  the  wife  of  Dr.  Welsh  at  Had- 
dington.  In  appearance  she  was  like  her  mother,  tall,  aquiline,  and 
commanding. 

"She  had  a  goodish,  well -tending  intellect  [says  Carlyle],  with 
something  of  real  drollery  in  it,  which  her  daughter  inherited.  Your 
mother,  my  dear,  I  once  said,  has  narrowly  missed  being  a  woman 
of  genius.  But  she  was  sensitive,  fanciful,  capricious.  Old  Pen- 
fillau,  who  was  on  a  visit  to  Haddington  once  after  his  son's  mar- 
riage, reported  that  he  had  seen  her  one  evening  in  fifteen  different 
humors.  She  was  not  easy  to  live  with  for  one  wiser  than  herself, 
though  very  easv  for  one  more  foolish,  especially  if  a  touch  of  hy- 
pocrisy and  perfect  admiration  was  superadded.  The  married  life  at 
Haddington  was  loyal  and  happy,  but  because  the  husband  took  the 
command  and  knew  how  to  keep  it;  he  had  much  loved  his  wife, 
but  none  could  less  love  what  of  follies  she  had.  She  was  unusually 
beautiful,  but  strangely  sad.  Eyes  bright  as  if  with  many  tears  be- 
hind them." 

Dr.  Welsh  himself  did  not  live  to  know  Carlyle.  He  died  in  1819, 
while  still  only  forty-three,  of  a  fever  caught  from  a  patient,  three 
years  before  Carlyle's  acquaintance  with  the  family  began.  His 


66  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

daughter  was  so  passionately  attached  to  him,  that  she  rarely  men- 
tioned his  name  even  to  her  husband.  From  others,  however,  Car- 
lyle  gathered  a  general  account  of  his  character. 

"Dr.  Welsh's  success  [he  writes1]  appears  to  have  been  swift 
and  constant,  till  before  long  the  whole  sphere  or  section  of  life  he 
was  placed  in  had  in  all  senses,  pecuniary  and  other,  become  his 
own,  and  there  remained  nothing  more  to  conquer  in  it :  only  very 
much  to  retain  by  the  methods  that  had  acquired  it,  and  to  be  ex- 
tremely thankful  for  as  an  allotment  in  this  world,  a  truly  superior 
man  according  to  all  ihe  evidence  I  from  all  quarters  have — a  very 
valiant  man  Edward  Irving  once  called  him  in  my  hearing.  He  was 
of  noble  and  distinguished  presence,  tall,  highly  graceful,  self-pos- 
sessed, spontaneously  dignified,  so  that  people,  if  he  entered  a  theatre 
or  the  like,  asked  who  is  it  ?  black  hair,  bright  hazel  eyes,  bright, 
lively,  steadily  expressive  features.  His  medical  sagacity  was  reck- 
oned at  a  higher  and  higher  rate,  medical  and  other  honesty  as  well ; 
for  it  was  by  no  means  as  a  wise  physician  only,  but  as  an  honora- 
ble, exact,  and  quietly-dignified  man,  punctual,  faithful  in  all  points, 
that  he  was  esteemed  in  the  counly.  It  was  three  years  after  his 
death  when  I  first  came  into  the  circle  which  had  been  his,  and  no- 
where have  I  met  with  a  posthumous  reputation  that  seemed  to  be 
more  unanimous  or  higher  among  all  ranks  of  men.  The  brave  man 
himself  I  never  saw;  but  my  poor  Jeannie  in  her  best  moments  often 
said  to  me  about  this  or  that,  '  Yes,  he  would  have  done  it  so  !'  '  Ah, 
he  would  have  liked  you  !'  as  her  highest  praise.  Punctuality, 
Irving  described  as  a  thing  he  much  insisted  on.  Gravely  inflexible 
where  right  was  concerned,  and  very  independent  when  men  of  rank 
attempted  to  avail  upon  him.  One  anecdote  I  always  remember. 
Riding  along  one  day  on  his  multifarious  business,  he  noticed  a  poor 
wounded  partridge  fluttering  and  struggling  about,  wing  or  leg,  or 
both,  broken  by  some  sportsman's  lead.  He  alighted  in  his  haste, 
gathered  up  the  poor  partridge,  looped  it  gently  in  his  handkerchief, 
brought  it  home,  and  by  careful  splints  and  other  treatment  had  it 
soon  on  wing  and  sent  it  forth  healed.  This  in  so  grave  and  practi- 
cal a  man  had  always  in  it  a  fine  expressiveness  to  me." 

Such  was  the  genealogy  of  the  young  lady  to  whom  Carlyle  was 
now  about  to  be  introduced  by  Irving,  and  who  was  afterwards  to  be 
his  wife.  Tradition  traced  her  lineage  to  Knox  and  Wallace.  Au- 
thentic history  connected  her  with  parents  and  kindred  of  singular, 
original,  and  strikingly  superior  quality.  Jane  Baillie  Welsh  was 
an  only  child,  and  was  born  in  1801.  In  her  earliest  years  she  show- 
ed that  she  was  a  girl  of  no  common  quality.  She  had  black  hair, 
large  black  eyes  shining  with  soft  mockery,  pale  complexion,  broad 
forehead,  nose  not  regularly  formed,  but  mocking  also  like  the  eyes, 
figure  slight,  airy,  and  perfectly  graceful.  She  was  called  beautiful, 
and  beautiful  she  was  even  to  the  end  of  her  life,  if  a  face  be  beauti- 

i  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  ii.  p.  114. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  67 

ful  which  to  look  at  is  to  admire.  But  beauty  was  only  the  second 
thought  which  her  appearance  suggested;  the  first  was  intellectual 
vivacity.  Precious  as  she  was  to  parents  who  had  no  other  child, 
she  was  brought  up  with  exceptional  care.  Strict  obedience  in  es- 
sentials was  the  rule  of  the  Haddington  household.  But  the  stories 
of  her  young  days  show  that  there  was  no  harsh  interference  with 
her  natural  playfulness.  Occasional  visits  were  allowed  to  Temp- 
land,  to  her  grandfather  Walter,  who  was  especially  fond  of  her. 
In  that  house  she  was  called  Pen  (short  for  Penfillan),  to  distinguish 
her  from  a  second  Jane  Welsh  of  the  other  family.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  when  she  was  six  years  old,  her  grandfather  took  her  out 
for  a  ride  on  a  quiet  little  pony.  When  they  had  gone  as  far  as  was 
desirable,  Walter,  burring  his  rr's  and  intoning  his  vowels  as  usual, 
said,  "Now  we  will  go  back  by  so  and  so,  to  vahery  the  shane." 
"Where  did  you  ride  to,  Pen  ?"  the  company  asked  at  dinner.  "We 
rode  to  so  and  then  to  so," answered  she  punctually,  "and  then  from 
so  returned  by  so  to  vahery  the  shane,"  at  which,  says  Carlyle,  the  old 
man  burst  into  his  cheeriest  laugh  at  the  mimicry  of  tiny  little  Pen. 
She  was  a  collected  little  lady,  with  a  fine  readiness  in  difficulties. 
The  Welshes  were  the  leading  family  at  Haddington,  and  were 
prominent  in  the  social  entertainments  there.  When  she  was  about 
the  same  age  there  was  to  be  a  childs'  ball  at  the  dancing-school. 

"Of  this  [Carlyle  writes1]  I  often  heard  in  the  daintiest  style, 
how  the  evening  was  so  great,  all  the  higher  public,  especially  the 
maternal  and  paternal  sections  of  it,  collected  to  see  the  children 
dance;  how  Jeannie  Welsh,  then  about  six,  had  been  selected  to  per- 
form some  pas-seul,  beautiful  and  difficult,  the  jewel  of  the  evening, 
and  was  privately  anxious  in  her  little  heart  to  do  it  well;  how  she 
was  dressed  to  perfection  with  elegance,  with  simplicity,  and  at  the 
due  hour  was  carried  over  in  a  clothes-basket  (streets  being  muddy 
and  no  carriage),  and  landed  safe,  pretty  silks  and  pumps  uninjured. 
Through  the  ball  everything  went  well  and  smoothly,  nothing  to  be 
noted  till  the  pas-seul  came.  My  little  woman,  with  a  look  that  I 
can  still  fancy,  appeared  upon  the  scene,  stood  waiting  for  the  mu- 
sic. Music  began,  but,  alas  !  it  wras  the  wrong  music.  Impossible 
to  dance  that  pas-seul  to  it.  She  shook  her  little  head,  looked  or 
made  some  sign  of  distress  ;  music  ceased,  took  counsel,  scraped,  be- 
gan again  ;  again  wrong  hopelessly  ;  the  pas-seul  flatly  impossible. 
Beautiful  little  Jane  alone  against  the  world,  forsaken  by  the  music, 
but  not  by  her  presence  of  mind,  plucked  up  her  little  skirt,  flung  it 
over  her  head,  and,  curtseying  in  that  veiled  manner,  withdrew  from 
the  adventure,  amidst  general  applause." 

She  learned  rapidly  the  usual  young  lady's  accomplishments — mu- 
sic, drawing,  modern  languages ;  and  she  had  an  appetite  for  knowl- 

1  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  ii.  p.  99. 


68  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

edge  not  easily  to  be  satisfied.  A  girl's  education  was  not  enough. 
She  demanded  "to  learn  Latin  like  a  boy."  Her  mother  was  against 
it.  Her  father,  who  thought  well  of  her  talents,  inclined  to  let  her 
have  her  way.  The  question  was  settled  at  last  in  a  characteristic 
fashion  by  herself.  She  found  some  lad  in  Haddington  who  intro- 
duced her  to  the  mysteries  of  nouns  of  the  first  declension.  Having 
mastered  her  lesson,  one  night  when  she  was  thought  to  be  in  bed, 
she  had  hidden  herself  under  the  drawing-room  table.  When  an 
opportunity  offered,  the  small  voice  was  heard  from  below  the  cover, 
"  Penna,  a  pen  ;  pennce,  of  a  pen,"  etc.,  etc.  She  crept  out  amidst 
the  general  amusement,  ran  to  her  father,  and  said,  "  I  want  to  learn 
Latin ;  please  let  me  be  a  boy. " 

Haddington  school  was  a  furlong's  distance  from  her  father's 
house.  Boys  and  girls  were  taught  together  there  ;  and  to  this  ac- 
cordingly she  was  sent. 

"Thither  daily  at  an  early  hour  [records  Carlyle  again]  might 
be  seen  my  little  Jeannie  tripping  nimbly  and  daintily  along,  satchel 
in  hand,  dressed  by  her  mother,  who  had  a  great  talent  that  way,  in 
tasteful  simplicity,  neat  bit  of  pelisse  (light  blue  sometimes),  fastened 
with  black  belt,  dainty  little  cap,  perhaps  little  beaverkin,  with  flap 
turned  up,  and  I  think  one  at  least  with  modest  little  plume  in  it. 
Fill  that  little  figure  with  elastic  intellect,  love,  and  generous  vivacity 
of  all  kinds,  and  where  in  nature  will  you  find  a  prettier  ?  At  home 
was  opulence  without  waste,  elegance,  good -sense,  silent,  practical 
affection,  and  manly  wisdom.  From  threshold  to  roof -tree  no  pal- 
triness or  unveracity  admitted  into  it.  I  often  told  her  how  very 
beautiful  her  childhood  was  to  me.  So  authentic,  too,  in  her  charm- 
ing naive  and  humorous  way  of  telling,  and  that  she  must  have  been 
the  prettiest  little  Jenny  Spinner1  that  was  dancing  on  the  summer 
rays  hi  her  time." 

A  fiery  temper  there  was  in  her  too.  Boys  and  girls  were  kept  f 01 
the  most  part  in  separate  rooms  at  the  school,  but  arithmetic  and  al- 
gebra, in  which  she  was  especially  proficient,  they  learned  together 
—or  perhaps  she  in  her  zeal  for  knowledge  was  made  an  exception. 
The  boys  were  generally  devoted  to  her,  but  differences  rose  now 
and  then.  A  lad  one  day  was  impertinent.  She  doubled  her  little 
fist,  struck  him  on  the  nose,  and  made  it  bleed.  Fighting  in  school 
was  punished  by  flogging.  The  master  came  in  at  the  instant,  saw 
the  marks  of  the  fray,  and  asked  who  was  the  delinquent.  All  were 
silent.  No  one  would  betray  a  girl.  The  master  threatened  to  tawse 
the  whole  school,  and  being  a  man  of  his  word  would  have  done  it, 
when  the  small  Jeannie  looked  up  and  said,  "Please  it  was  I."  The 
master  tried  to  look  grave,  failed  entirely,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

i  Scotch  name  for  a  long-winged,  long-legged,  extremely  bright  and  airy  insect — 
T.  C. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  69 

He  told  her  she  was  "  a  little  deevil,"  and  had  no  business  there,  and 
bade  her  "go  her  ways"  to  the  girls'  room. 

Soon  after  this  there  was  a  change  in  the  school  management. 
Edward  Irving,  then  fresh  from  college  honors,  came  as  master,  and, 
along  with  the  school,  was  trusted  with  the  private  education  of 
Jane  Welsh.  Dr.  Welsh  had  recognized  his  fine  qualities,  and  took 
him  into  the  intimacy  of  his  household,  where  he  was  treated  as  an 
elder  son.  He  watched  over  the  little  lady's  studies,  took  her  out 
with  him  on  bright  nights  to  show  her  the  stars  and  teach  her  the 
movements  of  them.  Irving  was  then  a  young  man,  and  his  pupil 
was  a  child.  A  few  years  were  to  make  a  difference.  She  worked 
with  feverish  eagerness,  getting  up  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  busy 
with  her  books  at  all  hours.  She  was  soon  dux  in  mathematics. 
Her  tutor  introduced  her  to  Virgil,  and  the  effect  of  Virgil  and  of 
her  other  Latin  studies  was  "to  change  her  religion  and  make  her 
into  a  sort  of  Pagan. "  In  one  of  her  old  note-books  I  find  an  illusion 
to  this : 

"It  is  strictly  true  [she  says],  and  it  was  not  my  religion  alone 
that  these  studies  influenced,  but  my  whole  being  was  imbued  with 
them.  Would  I  prevent  myself  from  doing  a  selfish  or  cowardly 
thing,  I  didn't  say  to  myself,  '  You  mustn't,  or  if  you  dp  you  will  go 
to  hell  hereafter.'  Nor  yet,  '  If  you  do  you  will  be  whipt  here;'  but 
I  said  to  myself  simply  and  grandly,  'A  Roman  would  not  have 
done  it,'  and  that  sufficed  under  ordinary  temptations.  Again,  when 
I  had  done  something  heroic — when,  for  instance,  I  had  caught  a 
gander  which  hissed  at  me  by  the  neck  and  flung  him  to  the  right- 
about, it  was  not  a  good  child  that  I  thought  myself,  for  whom  the 
half-crown  bestowed  on  me  was  fit  reward — in  my  own  mind  I  had 
deserved  well  of  the  Republic,  and  aspired  to  a  'civic  crown.'  But 
the  classical  world  in  which  I  lived  and  moved  was  best  indicated  in 
the  tragedy  of  my  doll.  It  had  been  intimated  to  me  by  one  whose 
wishes  were  law,  that  a  young  lady  in  '  Virgil '  should  for  consisten- 
cy's sake  drop  her  doll.  So  the  doll  being  judged,  must  be  made  an 
end  of ;  and  I,  '  doing  what  I  would  with  my  own,'  like  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  quickly  decided  how.  She  should  end  as  Dido  ended, 
that  doll !  as  the  doll  of  a  young  lady  in  '  Virgil '  should  end !  With 
her  dresses,  which  were  many  and  sumptuous,  her  four-posted  bed, 
a  fagot  or  two  of  cedar  allumettes,  a  few  sticks  of  cinnamon,  a  few 
cloves  and  a — nutmeg  !  I  non  ignara  futuri  constructed  her  funeral 
pyre — sub  auras,  of  course  ;  and  the  new  Dido,  having  placed  herself 
in  the  bed,  with  help,  spoke  through  my  lips  the  last  sad  words  of 
Dido  the  first,  which  I  had  then  all  by  heart  as  pat  as  ABC,  and 
have  now  forgotten  all  but  two  lines — 

'  Vixi  et  quern  dederat  cursum  fortuna  percgi; 
Ki  iiunc  magna  mei  sub  terras  ibit  imago.' 


And  half  a  line  more — 


'Sic,  sic  jurat  ire  sub  umbras.' 

4* 


70  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

The  doll  having  thus  spoken,  pallida  morte  futurd,  kindled  the  pile 
and  stabbed  herself  with  a  penknife  by  way  of  Tyrian  sword.  Then, 
however,  in  the  moment  of  seeing  my  poor  doll  blaze  up — for  being 
stuffed  with  bran  she  took  fire  and  was  all  over  in  no  time — in  that 
supreme  moment  my  affection  for  her  blazed  up  also,  and  I  shrieked 
and  would  have  saved  her  and  could  not,  and  went  on  shrieking  till 
everybody  within  hearing  flew  to  me,  and  bore  me  off  in  a  plunge 
of  tears — an  epitome  of  most  of  one's  '  heroic  sacrifices '  it  strikes 
me,  magnanimously  resolved  on,  ostentatiously  gone  about,  repented 
of  at  the  last  moment,  and  bewailed  with  an  outcry.  Thus  was  my 
inner  world  at  that  period  three-fourths  old  Roman  and  one-fourth 
old  Fairy." 

In  the  same  note-book  there  is  a  long  story  of  her  first  child  love, 
told  with  the  same  grace,  which  need  not  be  extracted  here.  When 
she  was  fourteen  she  wrote  a  tragedy,  rather  inflated,  but  extraordi- 
nary for  her  age.  She  never  repeated  the  experiment,  but  for  many 
years  she  continued  to  write  poetry.  She  had  inherited  from  her 
mother  the  gift  of  verse-making.  Mrs.  Welsh's  lyrics  were  soft, 
sweet,  passionate,  musical,  and  nothing  besides.  Her  daughter  had 
less  sweetness,  but  touched  intellectual  chords  which  her  mother 
never  reached. 

The  person  "whose  wishes  were  law,"  and  whose  suggestion  oc- 
casioned the  sacrifice  of  the  doll,  if  it  was  not  Irving,  was  probably 
her  father. 

"Of  him  [says  her  friend  Miss  Jewsbury]  she  always  spoke 
with  reverence.  He  was  the  only  person  who  had  any  real  influ- 
ence over  her.  However  wilful  she  might  be,  obedience  to  her 
parents  unquestioning  and  absolute  lay  at  the  foundation  of  her 
life.  She  used  to  say  that  this  habit  was  her  salvation,  and  that  she 
owed  to  it  all  that  was  of  value  in  her  character.  She  always  spoke 
of  any  praise  her  father  gave  her  as  a  precious  possession.  She 
loved  him  passionately,  and  never  spoke  of  him  except  to  friends 
whom  she  valued.  It  was  the  highest  token  of  her  regard  when  she 
told  any  one  about  her  father. " 

She  lost  him,  as  has  been  said,  at  an  age  when  she  most  needed 
his  guiding  hand.  Had  Dr.  Welsh  lived,  her  life  would  have  been 
happier ;  whether  more  useful  it  is  unprofitable  to  conjecture.  The 
patient  from  whom  he  caught  the  fever  which  killed  him  was  at 
some  distance  from  Haddington.  She  being  then  eighteen,  had  ac- 
companied him  in  the  carriage  in  this  his  last  drive,  and  it  was  for- 
ever memorable  to  her.  Carlyle  writes : ' 

"The  usually  tacit  man,  tacit  especially  about  his  bright  daugh- 
ter's gifts  and  merits,  took  to  talking  with  her  that  day  in  a  style 
quite  new,  told  her  she  was  a  good  girl,  capable  of  being  useful  and 

1  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  ii.  p.  93. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  71 

precious  to  him,  and  to  the  circle  she  would  live  in ;  that  she  must 
summon  her  utmost  judgment  and  seriousness  to  choose  her  path 
and  be  what  he  expected  of  her ;  that  he  did  not  think  he  had  ever 
seen  the  life  partner  that  would  be  worthy  of  her ;  in  short,  that  he 
expected  her  to  be  wise  as  well  as  good-looking  and  good — all  this 
in  a  tone  and  manner  which  filled  her  poor  little  heart  with  surprise 
and  a  kind  of  sacred  joy,  coming  from  the  man  she  of  all  men  re- 
vered. Often  she  told  me  about  this,  for  it  was  her  last  talk  with 
him  ;  on  the  morrow,  perhaps  that  evening,  certainly  within  a  day 
or  two,  he  caught  from  some  poor  old  woman  patient  a  typhus- 
fever,  which  under  injudicious  treatment  killed  him  in  three  or  four 
days,  and  drowned  the  world  for  her  in  the  very  blackness  of  dark- 
ness. In  effect  it  was  her  first  sorrow,  and  her  greatest  of  all.  It 
broke  her  health  permanently,  and  in  a  sense  almost  broke  her  heart. 
A  father  so  loved  and  mourned  I  have  never  seen.  To  the  end  of 
her  life,  his  title  even  to  me  was  'He'  and  'Him.'  Not  above  twice 
or  thrice,  quite  in  later  years,  did  she  ever  mention,  and  then  in  a 
quiet,  slow  tone — my  father." 

Dr.  Welsh's  illness  being  of  so  deadly  a  kind,  he  gave  orders  that 
she  should  not  be  allowed  to  enter  his  room.  Persons  who  were  in 
the  house  at  the  time  have  said  that  Miss  Welsh's  agitation  was  con- 
vulsive in  its  violence.  "  I  will  see  him,"  she  cried.  ''I  will  see  my 
father. "  She  forced  her  way  to  his  bedside.  He  sent  her  out,  and  she 
lay  all  night  on  the  stairs  outside  the  door,  refusing  to  be  moved.  Dr. 
Welsh's  end  was  hastened  on,  perhaps  caused,  by  the  unskilfulness 
of  his  brother,  a  medical  man  like  himself,  who  bled  him  too  pro- 
fusely. The  first  letter  of  Jane  Welsh  which  has  been  preserved,  is 
one  which  she  wrote  a  fortnight  later  to  her  Penfillan  grandmother, 
her  father's  mother.  She  had  spoken  laughingly  of  her  paganism ; 
her  nature  at  the  bottom  was  of  a  seriousness  too  deep  for  words, 
and  her  real  character  only  showed  itself  when  she  was  passionately 
moved : 

To  Mrs.  Welsh,  Penfillan. 

"Haddington:  October  5, 1819. 

"My  dear  Grandmother, — I  cannot  allow  my  uncle  to  retiirn 
to  you  without  writing  to  assure  you  that  the  example  of  resignation 
to  the  will  of  God  which  you  have  given  has  not  been  totally  lost 
upon  us.  It  has  been  a  great  consolation  to  me  under  this  dreadful 
trial  to  see  my  poor  mother  support  it  so  well.  From  the  very  deli- 
cate state  of  her  health  for  some  time  past,  from  the  great  fatigue 
she  underwent  during  my  dear  father's  illness,  and  above  all  from 
the  acuteness  of  her  feelings  on  the  most  ordinary  occasions,  I  had 
little  reason  to  expect  so  much  fortitude.  I  will  ever  be  grateful  to 
her  for  the  exertion  which  she  has  made  (I  am  convinced  in  a  great 
measure  on  my  account),  and  still  more  grateful  to  Him  who  has 
enabled  her  to  make  them. 

"This  has  indeed  been  an  unexpected  and  overwhelming  blow. 
My  father's  death  was  a  calamity  I  almost  never  thought  of.  If  on 


72  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

any  occasion  the  idea  did  present  itself  to  me,  it  was  immediately 
repelled  as  being  too  dreadful  to  be  realized  for  many,  many  yosirs, 
and  top  painful  to  occupy  any  present  place  in  my  thoughts.  Until 
this  misfortune  fell  upon  me  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  really 
unhappy.  The  greatest  error  and  misfortune  of  my  life  hitherto  has 
been  not  being  sufficiently  grateful  for  the  happiness  I  enjoyed. 

' '  You,  my  dear  grandmother,  have  had  many  trials ;  but  if  I  mis- 
take not,  you  will  still  remember  the  bitterness  of  the  first  above  all 
others, ;  you  will  still  be  able  to  recall  the  feeling  of  disappointment 
and  despair  which  you  experienced  when  calamity  awoke  you  from 
your  dream  of  security,  and  dispelled  the  infatuation  which  led  you 
to  expect  that  you  alone  were  to  be  exempted  from  this  world's  mis- 
ery. But  you  are  good,  and  I  am  judging  of  your  feelings  by  my 
own;  when  young  as  I  am  perhaps  you  were  not,  as  I  was,  thought- 
less and  unprepared  for  the  chastisement  of  the  Divine  Power.  The 
ways  of  the  Almighty  are  mysterious  ;  but  in  this  instance,  though 
he  has  left  thousands  in  the  world  whose  existence  is  a  burden  to 
themselves  and  to  those  around  them,  though  he  has  cut  off  one  who 
was  the  glory  of  his  family,  a  most  useful  member  of  society,  one  who 
was  respected  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  though  he  has 
afflicted  those  who  we  thought  deserved  to  be  happy,  yet  his  inten- 
tion appears  to  me  clear  and  intelligible.  Could  the  annihilation  of 
a  thousand  useless  and  contemptible  beings  have  sent  such  terror 
and  submission  to  the  hearts  of  the  survivors,  as  the  sudden  death 
of  one  whom  their  love  would,  if  possible,  have  gifted  with  immor- 
tality? Oh,  no!  Hard  it  is,  but  we  must  acknowledge  the  wisdom 
of  his  sentence,  even  while  we  are  suffering  under  it — we  must  kiss 
the  rod  even  while  we  are  writhing  under  the  tortures  which  it 
inflicts. 

"We  shall  be  in  Dumfriesshire  in  a  month  or  three  weeks.  My 
mother  will  answer  your  kind  letter  as  soon  as  she  feels  able  for  it. 
With  kind  love  to  my  grandfather  and  my  aunts,  and  with  every 
wish  for  your  health,  and  the  restoration  of  your  peace  of  mind,  I 
remain,  my  dear  grandmother,  your  very  affectionate  child, 

"JANE  BAILLIE  WELSH." 

After  her  father's  death,  Miss  Welsh  continued  with  her  mother 
at  Haddington.  With  the  exception  of  some  small  annuity  for  his 
widow,  Dr.  Welsh  had  left  everything  belonging  to  him  to  his  daugh- 
ter. Craigenputtock  became  hers  ;  other  money  investments  became 
hers;  and  though  the  property  altogether  was  not  large  according  to 
modern  estimates  of  such  things,  it  was  sufficient  as  long  as  mother 
and  child  remained  together  to  enable  them  to  live  with  comfort 
and  even  elegance.  Miss  Welsh  was  now  an  heiress.  Her  wit  and 
beauty  added  to  her  distinctions,  and  she  was  called  the  flower  of 
Haddington.  Her  hand  became  an  object  of  speculation.  She  had 
as  many  suitors  as  Penelope.  They  were  eligible,  many  of  them,  in 
point  of  worldly  station.  Some  afterwards  distinguished  themselves. 
She  amused  herself  with  them,  but  listened  favorably  to  none,  being 
protected  perhaps  by  a  secret  attachment,  which  had  grown  up  un- 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  73 

consciously  between  herself  and  her  tutor.  There  were  difficulties 
in  the  way  which  prevented  them  from  acknowledging  to  one  an- 
other, or  even  to  themselves,  the  condition  of  their  feelings.  Ed- 
ward Irving  had  been  removed  from  Haddington  to  Kirkcaldy, 
where  he  had  entered  while  Jane  Welsh  was  still  a  child  into  a  half- 
formed  engagement  with  the  daughter  of  the  Kirkcaldy  minister, 
Miss  Isabella  Martin.  In  England  young  people  often  fancy  them- 
selves in  love.  They  exchange  vows  which  as  they  grow  older  are 
repented  of,  and  are  broken  without  harm  to  either  party.  In  Scot- 
land, perhaps  as  a  remains  of  the  ecclesiastical  precontract  which 
had  legal  validity,  these  connections  had  a  more  binding  character. 
They  could  be  dissolved  by  mutual  consent ;  but  if  the  consent  of 
both  was  wanting,  there  was  a  moral  stain  on  the  person  escaping 
from  the  bond.  Irving  had  long  been  conscious  that  he  had  been 
too  hasty,  and  was  longing  for  release.  But  there  was  no  encourage- 
ment on  the  side  of  the  Martins.  Marriage  was  out  of  the  question 
till  he  had  made  a  position  for  himself,  and  he  had  allowed  the  mat- 
ter to  drift  on,  since  immediate  decision  was  unnecessary.  Jane 
"Welsh  meanwhile  had  grown  into  a  woman.  Irving,  who  was  a 
constant  visitor  at  Haddington,  discovered  when  he  looked  into  his 
heart  that  his  real  love  was  for  his  old  pupil,  and  the  feeling  on  her 
part  was — the  word  is  her  own — "passionately"  returned.  The 
mischief  was  done  before  they  became  aware  of  their  danger.  Ir- 
ving's  situation  being  explained,  Miss  Welsh  refused  to  listen  to  any 
language  but  that  of  friendship  from  him  until  Miss  Martin  had  set 
him  free.  Irving,  too,  was  equally  high-principled,  and  was  resolved 
to  keep  his  word.  But  there  was  an  unexpressed  hope  on  both  sides 
that  he  would  not  be  held  to  it,  and  on  these  dangerous  terms  Irving 
continued  to  visit  at  Haddington,  when  he  could  be  spared  from  his 
duties.  Miss  Welsh  was  working  eagerly  at  literature,  with  an  ambi- 
tion of  becoming  an  authoress,  and  winning  name  and  fame.  Un- 
able or  too  much  occupied  himself  to  be  of  use  to  her,  Irving  thought 
of  his  friend  Carlyle,  who  was  living  in  obscurity  and  poverty  at 
Edinburgh,  as  a  fit  person  to  assist  and  advise  her.  The  acquaint- 
ance, he  considered,  would  be  mutually  agreeable.  He  obtained 
leave  from  Mrs.  Welsh  to  bring  him  over  and  introduce  him.  The 
introduction  was  effected  a  little  before  Carlyle  had  "taken  the 
devil  by  the  nose,"  as  he  describes  in  "  Sartor  Resartus  ;"  and  per- 
haps the  first  visit  to  Haddington  had  contributed  to  bringing  him 
off  victorious  from  that  critical  encounter. 

"In  June,  1821  [says  Carlyle,  but  it  was  rather  in  the  last  week 
of  May],  Edward  Irving,  who  was  visiting  and  recruiting  about 
Edinburgh,  on  one  of  his  occasional  holiday  sallies  from  Glasgow, 
took  me  out  to  Haddington.  We  walked  cheerily  together,  not  al- 
ways by  the  highway,  but  meandering  at  our  will  pleasantly  and 


74  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

multifariously  talking,  as  has  been  explained  elsewhere,1  and  about 
sunset  of  that  same  day  I  first  saw  her  who  was  to  be  so  important 
to  me  thenceforth.  A  red,  dusky  evening,  the  sky  hanging  huge 
and  high,  but  dim  as  with  dust  or  drought  over  Irving  and  me,  as 
we  walked  home  to  our  lodging  at  the  George  Inn. 

"The  visit  lasted  three  or  four  days,  and  included  Gilbert  Burns 
and  other  figures,  besides  the  one  fair  figure  most  of  all  important 
to  me.  We  were  often  in  her  mother's  house  ;  sat  talking  with  the 
two  for  hours  almost  every  evening.  The  beautiful  bright  and  ear- 
nest young  lady  was  intent  on  literature  as  the  highest  aim  in  life, 
and  felt  imprisoned  in  the  dull  element  which  yielded  her  no  com- 
merce in  that  kind,  and  would  not  even  yield  her  books  to  read.  I 
obtained  permission  to  send  at  least  books  from  Edinburgh.  Book 
parcels  naturally  included  bits  of  writing  to  and  from,  and  thus  an 
acquaintance  and  correspondence  was  begun  which  had  hardly  any 
interruption,  and  no  break  at  all  while  life  lasted.  She  was  often 
in  Edinburgh  on  visit  with  her  mother  to  'Uncle  Robert,'  in 
Northumberland  Street,  to  'old  Mrs.  Bradfute,  in  George's  Square,' 
and  I  had  leave  to  call  on  these  occasions,  which  I  zealously  enough, 
if  not  too  zealously  sometimes,  in  my  awkward  way  took  advantage 
of.  I  was  not  her  declared  lover,  nor  could  she  admit  me  as  such 
in  my  waste  and  uncertain  posture  of  affairs  and  prospects ;  but  we 
were  becoming  thoroughly  acquainted  with  each  other ;  and  her 
tacit,  hidden,  but  to  me  visible  friendship  for  me,  was  the  happy 
island  in  my  otherwise  dreary,  vacant,  and  forlorn  existence  in 
those  years." 

Eager  as  the  interest  which  Carlyle  was  taking  in  his  new  acquaint- 
ance, he  did  not  allow  it  to  affect  the  regulation  of  his  life,  or  to 
drive  him  into  the  beaten  roads  of  the  established  professions  on 
which  he  could  arrive  at  fortune.  His  zeal  for  mathematics  had  by 
this  time  cooled.  He  had  travelled,  as  he  said,  into  more  "pregnant 
inquiries."  Inquiry  had  led  to  doubt,  and  doubt  had  enfeebled  and 
dispirited  him  till  he  had  grappled  with  it  and  conquered  it.  Tradi- 
tionary interpretations  of  things  having  finally  broken  down  with 
him,  he  was  now  searching  for  some  answer  which  he  could  believe 
to  the  great  central  question,  What  this  world  is,  and  what  is  man's 
business  in  it  ?  Of  classical  literature  he  knew  little,  and  that  little 
had  not  attracted  him.  He  was  not  living  in  ancient  Greece  or 
Rome,  but  in  modern  Europe,  modern  Scotland,  with  the  added  ex- 
periences and  discoveries  of  eighteen  centuries ;  and  light,  if  light 
there  was,  could  be  looked  for  only  in  the  writers  of  his  own  era. 
English  literature  was  already  widely  familiar  to  him.  He  had  read 
every  book  in  Irving's  library  at  Kirkcaldy,  and  his  memory  had 
the  tenacity  of  steel.  He  had  studied  Italian  and  Spanish.  He  had 
worked  at  D'Alembert  and  Diderot,  Rousseau  and  Voltaire.  Still 
unsatisfied,  he  had  now  fastened  himself  upon  German,  and  was 


Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  174. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  75 

devouring  Schiller  and  Goethe.  Having  abandoned  the  law,  he  was 
becoming  conscious  that  literature  must  be  the  profession  of  his  life. 
He  did  not  suppose  that  he  had  any  special  gift  for  it.  He  told  me 
long  after,  when  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  that  he  had  perhaps  less 
capability  for  literature  than  for  any  other  occupation.  But  he  was 
ambitious  to  use  his  time  to  honorable  purposes.  He  was  impatient 
of  the  trodden  ways  which  led  only  to  money  or  to  worldly  fame, 
and  literature  was  the  single  avenue  which  offered  an  opening  into 
higher  regions.  The  fate  of  those  who  had  gone  before  him  was 
not  encouraging.  "  The  biographies  of  English  men  of  letters,"  he 
says  somewhere,  "are  the  wretchedest  chapters  in  our  history,  ex- 
cept the  Newgate  Calendar."  Germany,  however,  and  especially 
modern  Germany,  could  furnish  brighter  examples.  Schiller  first 
took  hold  of  him:  pure,  innocent,  consistent,  clear  as  the  sunlight, 
with  a  character  in  which  calumny  could  detect  neither  spot  nor  stain. 
The  situation  of  Schiller  was  not  unlike  his  own.  A  youth  of  pov- 
erty, surrounded  by  obstructions ;  long  difficulty  in  finding  a  road 
on  which  he  could  travel ;  bad  health  besides,  and  despondent  fits, 
with  which  Carlyle  himself  was  but  too  familiar.  Yet  with  all  this 
Schiller  had  conquered  adversity.  He  had  raised  himself  to  the  sec- 
ond, if  not  to  the  highest  place,  in  the  admiration  of  his  countrymen ; 
and  there  was  not  a  single  act  in  his  whole  career  which  his  biogra- 
pher would  regret  to  record.  Schiller  had  found  his  inherited  be- 
liefs break  down  under  him,  and  had  been  left  floating  hi  uncertain- 
ties. But  he  had  formed  moral  convictions  of  his  own,  independent 
of  creeds  and  churches,  and  had  governed  his  thought  and  conduct 
nobly  by  them.  Nothing  that  he  did  required  forgiveness,  or  even 
apology.  No  line  ever  fell  from  his  pen  which  he  could  have  wished 
unwritten  when  life  was  closing  round  him.  Schiller's  was  thus  an 
inspiriting  figure  to  a  young  man  tremulously  launching  himself  on 
the  same  waters.  His  work  was  high  and  serene,  clear  and  healthy 
to  the  last  fibre,  noble  thought  and  noble  feeling  rendered  into  words 
with  true  artistic  skill. 

Nevertheless,  the  passionate  questionings  which  were  rising  in 
Carlyle's  mind  could  find  no  answer  which  would  satisfy  him  in 
Schiller's  prose  or  consolation  in  Schiller's  lyrics.  Schiller's  nature 
was  direct  and  simple  rather  than  profound  and  many-sided.  Kant 
had  spoken  the  last  word  in  philosophy  to  him.  His  emotions  were 
generous,  but  seldom  subtle  or  penetrating.  He  had  never  looked 
with  a  determined  eye  into  the  intellectual  problems  of  humanity. 
He  worked  as  an  artist  with  composed  vigor  on  subjects  which  suited 
his  genius,  and  while  his  sentiments  are  lofty  and  his  passion  hearty 
and  true,  his  speculative  insight  is  limited.  Thus  Schiller  is  great, 
but  not  the  greatest ;  and  those  who  have  gone  to  him  for  help  in 
the  enigmas  social  and  spiritual  which  distract  modern  Europe,  have 


76  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

found  generally  that  they  must  look  elsewhere.  From  Schiller  Car- 
lyle  had  turned  to  Goethe,  and  Goethe  had  opened  a  new  world  to 
him.  Schiller  believed  in  the  principles  for  which  Liberals  had  been 
fighting  for  three  centuries.  To  him  the  enemy  of  human  welfare 
was  spiritual  and  political  tyranny,  and  Don  Carlos,  William  Tell, 
the  revolt  of  the  Netherlands,  or  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  were  ready- 
made  materials  for  his  workshop.  He  was  no  vulgar  politician.  He 
soared  far  above  the  commonplaces  of  popular  orators  and  contro- 
versialists. He  was  a  poet,  with  a  poet's  sympathies.  He  could  ad- 
mire greatness  of  soul  in  a  Duke  of  Friedland;  he  could  feel  for  suf- 
fering if  the  sufferer  was  a  Mary  Stuart.  But  the  broad  articles  of 
faith  professed  by  the  believers  in  liberal  progress  were  Schiller's 
also,  and  he  never  doubted  their  efficacy  for  man's  salvation.  Goethe 
had  no  such  beliefs — no  beliefs  of  any  kind  which  could  be  reduced 
to  formulas.  If  he  distrusted  priests,  he  distrusted  still  more  the 
Freiheit's  Apostel  and  the  philosophic  critics.  He  had  studied  his 
age  on  all  its  sides.  He  had  shared  its  misgivings ;  he  had  suffered 
from  its  diseases  ;  he  had  measured  its  possibilities  ;  he  had  severed 
himself  from  all  illusions ;  and  held  fast  to  nothing  but  what  he 
could  definitely  recognize  as  truth.  In  "Werter,"  in  "Faust,"  in 
"Prometheus,"  Carlyle  found  that  another  as  well  as  he  had  expe- 
rienced the  same  emotions  with  which  he  was  himself  so  familiar. 
In  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  that  menagerie  of  tame  creatures,  as  Nie- 
buhr  called  it,  he  saw  a  picture  of  society,  accurate  precisely  because 
it  was  so  tame,  as  it  existed  in  middle-class  European  communities  ; 
the  ardent,  well-disposed  youth  launched  into  the  middle  of  it,  be- 
ginning his  apprenticeship  in  the  false  charms  of  the  provincial  the- 
atre, and  led  at  last  into  a  recognition  of  the  divine  meaning  of  Chris- 
tianity. Goethe  had  trod  the  thorny  path  before  Carlyle.  He  had 
not  rushed  into  atheism.  He  had  not  sunk  into  superstition.  He 
remained  true  to  all  that  intellect  could  teach  him,  and  after  facing 
all  the  spiritual  dragons  he  seemed  to  have  risen  victorious  into  an 
atmosphere  of  tranquil  wisdom.  On  finishing  his  first  perusal  of 
"Meister,"  and  walking  out  at  midnight  into  the  streets  of  Edin- 
burgh to  think  about  it,  Carlyle  said  to  himself, "  with  a  very  mixed 
feeling  in  other  respects,  that  here  lay  more  insight  into  the  elements 
of  human  nature,  and  a  more  poetically  perfect  combining  of  them, 
than  in  all  the  other  fictitious  literature  of  our  generation. " 

Having  been  charged  by  Irving  with  the  direction  of  Miss  Welsh's 
studies,  he  at  once  introduced  her  to  his  German  friends.  Irving, 
of  the  nature  of  whose  interest  in  her  welfare  Carlyle  had  no  sus- 
picion, was  alarmed  at  what  he  had  done.  His  own  religious  con- 
victions were  profound  and  sincere.  He  had  occasioned  unexpect- 
ed mischief  already  with  his  "  Virgil."  He  had  labored  afterwards 
with  all  his  energies  to  lead  his  pupil  to  think  about  Christianity  as 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  77 

he  thought  himself,  and  when  he  heard  of  the  books  which  she  was 
set  to  read,  he  felt  that  he  had  been  imprudent.  Two  months  after 
the  introduction  at  Haddingtoii  he  wrote  to  Carlyle  to  confess  his 
uneasiness : 

Edward  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"July  24,  1821. 

"I  did  not  follow  your  injunctions  in  transmitting  to  our  fair  ac- 
quaintance my  German  grammar  and  dictionary,  her  own  being  as 
much  to  the  purpose.  But  I  did  not  fail  to  instruct  her  to  make  all 
progress  through  the  preliminaries  to  an  easy  perusal  of  the  German 
poets.  I  am  not  competent  to  judge  of  their  value  towards  the  de- 
velopment of  thought  and  character.  You  are — and  therefore  I 
should  be  silent.  But  if  they  should  tend  to  cut  our  young  friend 
off  from  any  of  the  wholesome  intercourse  of  those  amongst  whom 
she  is  cast  without  being  able  to  raise  her  to  a  better,  I  should  be 
very  sorry,  as  it  seems  to  me  she  is  already  unhinged  from  many  of 
the  enjoyments  her  condition  might  afford  her.  She  contemplates 
the  inferiority  of  others  rather  from  the  point  of  ridicule  and  con- 
tempt than  from  that  of  commiseration  and  relief ;  and  by  so  doing 
she  not  only  leaves  objects  in  distress  and  loses  the  luxury  of  doing 
good,  but  she  contracts  in  her  own  mind  a  degree  of  coldness  and 
bitterness  which  suits  ill  with  my  conception  of  female  character 
and  a  female's  position  in  society.  But  I  am  speaking,  perhaps, 
away  from  the  truth.  The  books  may  not  be  what  they  are  report- 
ed of.  At  the  same  time  I  am  daily  becoming  more  convinced  that 
in  all  the  literature  of  our  own  which,  it  is  said,  holds  of  the  Ger- 
man school,  there  is  something  most  poisonous  to  all  that  in  this 
country  has  been  named  virtue,  and  still  more  to  the  distinctions  of 
conduct  which  religion  makes.  It  seems  to  me  there  is  a  jumble  or 
confusion  of  former  distinctions  as  if  they  were  preparing  for  some 
new  ones.  They  have  the  language  of  the  highest  purity,  even  of 
the  most  sacred  religion,  in  communion  with  the  blackest  crimes ; 
and  the  presence  of  the  former  is  thought  somehow  or  other  to  com- 
pensate for  the  latter.  There  is  an  attempt,  too,  I  think,  at  two 
standards  of  moral  judgment — one  for  the  man  of  genius  and  litera- 
ture, the  other  for  the  vulgar.  But  I  dare  say  these  are  rather  the 
extravagances  of  imitators  than  the  errors  of  the  masters." 

Another  letter  is  to  the  same  purpose,  while  it  throws  interesting 
light  on  Irving's  opinion  of  Carlyle  : 

"There  is  too  much  of  that  furniture  about  the  elegant  drawing- 
room  of  Jane  Welsh.  I  could  like  to  see  her  surrounded  with  a 
more  sober  set  of  companions  than  Rousseau  (j'our  friend),  and  By- 
ron, and  such  like.  They  will  never  make  different  characters  than 
they  were  themselves,  so  deeply  are  they  the  prototypes  of  their 
own  conceptions  of  character.  And  I  don't  think  it  will  much 
mend  the  matter  when  you  get  her  introduced  to  Von  Schiller  and 
Von  Goethe  and  your  other  nobles  of  German  literature.  I  fear 
Jane  has  already  dipped  too  deep  into  that  spring  already,  so  that 
unless  some  more  solid  food  be  afforded  I  fear  she  will  escape  alto- 
gether out  of  the  region  of  my  sympathies  and  the  sympathies  of 


78  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

honest,  home-bred  men.  In  these  feelings  I  know  you  will  join  me  ; 
and  in  giving  to  her  character  a  useful  and  elegant  turn  you  will  aid 
me  as  you  have  opportunity. 

"I  have  been  analyzing,  as  I  could,  the  origin  of  my  esteem  and 
affection  for  you.  You  are  no  more  a  general  favorite  than  I  am, 
and  in  the  strong  points  of  character  we  are  not  alike,  nor  yet  alike  in 
the  turn  of  our  general  thoughts  ;  and  we  are  both  too  intrepid  to 
seek  in  each  other  pity  or  consolation,  and  too  independent  to  let 
anything  sinister  or  selfish  enter  into  our  attachments.  How  comes 
it  to  pass,  then,  that  we  have  so  much  pleasant  communion  ?  I'll 
tell  you  one  thing.  High  literature  is  exiled  from  my  sphere,  and 
simple  principle  is  very  much  exiled  from  yours.  Thus  we  feel  a 
blank  on  both  sides,  which  is  supplied  in  some  measure  when  we 
meet.  I'll  tell  you  another  thing.  Severed  from  the  ordinary  stays 
of  men,  influence,  place,  fortune,  each  in  his  way  has  been  obliged  to 
hang  his  hopes  upon  something  higher ;  and  though  we  have  not 
chosen  the  same  thing,  in  both  cases  it  is  pure  and  unearthly,  and 
next  to  his  own  the  thing  which  the  other  admires  most.  I  can  easily 
see  that  in  the  progress  of  our  thoughts  and  characters  there  will  be 
ample  room  for  toleration  and  charity,  which  will  form  the  touch- 
stone of  our  esteem." 

Irving  identified  ' '  principle  "  with  belief  in  the  formulas  of  the 
Church,  and,  therefore,  supposed  Carlyle  to  be  without  it.  He  con- 
sidered his  friend,  no  doubt,  to  be  playing  with  dangerous  weapons, 
and  likely  to  injure  others  with  them  besides  himself.  But  Carlyle's 
principles,  when  applied  to  the  common  duties  of  life,  were  as  rigid 
as  Irving's.  He  had  been  struck  by  his  new  acquaintance  at  Had- 
dington,  but  he  was  too  wise  to  indulge  in  dreams  of  a  nearer  rela- 
tion— which  their  respective  positions  seemed  to  put  out  of  the  ques- 
tion— and  he  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  allow  himself  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  the  course  of  life  which  he  had  adopted,  or  forget  the 
dearer  friends  at  Mainhill  to  whom  he  was  so  passionately  attached. 
He  had  remained  this  summer  in  Edinburgh  longer  than  usual,  and 
he  and  Irving  had  meditated  a  small  walking-tour  together  at  the 
end  of  it.  Irving,  however,  was  unable  to  take  a  holiday.  Carlyle 
went  home  alone,  walking  as  he  always  did,  and  sending  his  box  by 
the  carrier.  For  him,  as  for  so  many  of  his  student  countrymen, 
coaches  were  rarely-tasted  luxuries.  They  tramped  over  moor  and 
road  with  their  bundles  on  their  shoulder,  sleeping  by  the  way  at 
herdsmen's  cottages ;  and  journeys  which  to  the  rich  would  be  a 
delightful  adventure,  were  not  less  pleasing  to  the  sons  of  Scottish 
peasants  because  forced  on  them  by  honest  poverty.  Mainhill  had 
become  again  by  this  time  the  happiest  of  shelters  to  him,  and  be- 
tween his  family  and  himself  the  old  clear  affection  and  mutual 
trust  had  completely  re-established  themselves.  The  passing  cloud 
had  risen  only  out  of  affectionate  anxiety  for  his  eternal  well-being. 
Satisfied  of  the  essential  piety  of  his  nature,  his  mother  had  been 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  79 

contented  to  believe  that  the  differences  between  herself  and  her  son 
were  differences  of  expression  merely,  not  of  radical  conviction. 
His  father  was  beginning  to  be  proud  of  him,  and  was  sensible 
enough  to  leave  him  to  his  own  guidance.  Three  quiet  months 
were  spent  with  his  brothers  and  sisters  while  he  was  writing  arti- 
cles for  Brewster's  Encyclopaedia.  In  November  he  was  in  Edin- 
burgh again  with  improving  prospects. 

"Things  look  as  if  they  would  go  smoothly  with  me  this  winter 
[lie  wrote  on  Xovember  17  to  his  father].  I  saw  Brewster  the  other 
day,  who  received  me  kindly,  and  spread  out  his  bank  draft  for  fif- 
teen guineas  like  a  man.  He  told  me  farther  that  a  translation  was 
for  certain  to  be  set  about,  and  that  I  as  certainly  should  have  the 
first  offer  of  it.  The  work  is  a  French  one,  Legendre's  '  Elements 
of  Geometry,'  which  Jack  knows  well  and  has  in  his  possession.  It 
is  a  thing  I  can  work  at,  if  the  ' gea  of  life'  be  in  me  at  all,  and  for 
that  cause  alone  I  purpose  to  accept  it.  There  is  plenty  of  Encyclo- 
paedia work  besides,  and  the  worthy  Review  men  seem  to  the  full  as 
desirous  that  I  should  write  for  them,  as  I  am  willing  to  write  for 
anything  in  honor  that  will  pay  me  well.  That  poor  article  which 
you  saw1  has  done  me  some  good  I  find  already,  and  though  I  respect 
neither  them  nor  their  cause  among  the  highest,  I  have  thoughts  of 
complying  for  a  time.  From  the  whole  of  this  you  will  be  happy  to 
conclude  that  I  am  free  of  danger  if  I  keep  a  sound  body,  which  I 
shall  surely  do  to  a  certain  extent." 

The  first  use  which  Carlyle  made  of  his  improved  finance  was  to 
send  his  father  a  pair  of  spectacles,  and  his  mother  "a  little  sover- 
eign to  keep  the  fiend  out  of  her  hussif." 

"You  will  tell  me  I  am  poor  [he  said  to  her  in  a  note  which  went 
with  his  present],  and  have  so  few  myself  of  these  coins  ;  but  I  am 
going  to  have  plenty  by-and-by;  and  if  I  had  but  one  I  cannot  see 
how  I  could  purchase  more  enjoyment  with  it  than  if  I  shared  it 
with  you.  Be  not  in  want  of  anything,  I  entreat  you,  that  I  can 
possibly  get  for  you.  It  would  be  hard  indeed  if  in  the  autumn  of 
a  life — the  spring  and  summer  of  which  you  have  spent  well  in  tak- 
ing care  of  us — we  should  know  what  would  add  to  your  frugal  en- 
joyments and  not  procure  it.  The  stockings  and  other  things  you 
have  sent  me  are  of  additional  value  in  my  eyes,  as  proofs  of  the 
unwearied  care  with  which  you  continue  to  watch  over  me.  I  still 
hope  to  see  the  day  when  I  may  acknowledge  all  this  more  effectu- 
ally. I  think  you  wanted  a  bonnet  when  I  was  at  home.  Do  not 
buy  any  till  after  the  box  returns." 

His  father  and  mother  were  not  Carlyle's  only  thought.  His 
brother  John  was  working  hard  at  school,  hoping  that  means  might 
offer  to  enable  him  to  attend  the  medical  classes  at  Edinburgh. 

1  Perhaps  one  of  the  short  biographies  which  Carlyle  was  writing  for  Brewster.  Ho 
never  republished  these  sketches,  which  are  little  more  than  exercises. 


80  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Power  rather  than  will  was  alone  wanting  for  Carlyle  to  take  the 
expense  upon  himself.  He  was  watching  for  an  opportunity,  and 
meanwhile  he  encouraged  John  to  persevere  with  all  his  energy. 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  John  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh:  December  21, 1821. 

"I  send  many  a  thought  southward  to  you;  often  in  the  mind's 
eye  you  appear  seated  at  your  mahogany  tippet  with  the  various 
accoutrements  of  a  solitary  student,  laboring  in  secret  at  the  task 
which — fear  it  not,  my  boy — will  yet  be  rewarded  openly.  Few 
such  quiet  things  in  nature  have  so  much  of  the  sublime  in  them  as 
the  spectacle  of  a  poor  but  honorable-minded  youth,  with  discourage- 
ment all  around  him,  but  never-dying  hope  within  his  heart,  forging, 
as  it  were,  the  armor  with  which  he  is  destined  to  resist  and  over- 
come the  hydras  of  this  world,  and  conquer  for  himself  in  due  time  a 
habitation  among  the  sunny  fields  of  life.  Like  every  other  virtue 
this  effort  may  be  called  its  own  reward,  even  though  success  should 
never  crown  it.  How  poor,  how  beggar  poor  compared  with  this,  is 
the  vulgar  rioting,  punch-drinking,  oyster-eating  existence  often  led 
by  your  borough  procurator  or  embryo  provost.  Truly,  Jack,  you 
have  chosen  the  better  part,  and  as  your  brother  I  rejoice  to  see  you 
persevere  in  it.  I  perused  with  deep  interest  and  pleasure  your 
graphic  account  of  the  style  in  which  our  father  received  the  spec- 
tacles. It  is  a  cheap  way  of  purchasing  pleasure  to  make  those  that 
love  us  happy  at  so  small  an  expense. 

"  Your  affectionate  brother,  T.  CAKLYLE." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
A.D.  1822.     ^ET.  27. 

AN  important  change  was  now  to  take  place  in  Carlyle's  circum- 
stances, which  not  only  raised  him  above  the  need  of  writing  articles 
for  bread  or  hunting  after  pupils,  but  enabled  him  to  give  his  brother 
the  lift  into  the  University  which  he  had  so  ardently  desired  to  give 
him.  It  came  about  in  this  way,  through  the  instrumentality  of  his 
constant  friend,  Edward  Irving.  Irving's  position  at  Glasgow,  Car- 
lyle says,  was  not  an  easy  one.  Theological  Scotland  was  jealous  of 
originality,  and  Irving  was  always  inclined  to  take  a  road  of  his  own. 
He  said  himself  that  "from  the  Westland  Whigs  he  had  but  tolera- 
tion :  when  praised  it  was  with  reservation,  often  with  cold  and  un- 
profitable admonition."  Even  Chalmers  sometimes,  in  retailing  the 
general  opinion  of  him,  "made  him  feel  all  black  in  his  prospects." 
He  was  growing  dispirited  about  himself,  when,  just  at  that  time,  he 
received  an  invitation  to  go  to  London  on  experimental  trial.  The 
Caledonian  Chapel  in  Hatton  Garden  was  in  need  of  a  minister. 
"  Certain  Glasgow  people,"  who  thought  more  favorably  of  Chal- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  81 

mers's  assistant  than  their  neighbors  thought,  or  than  Chalmers  him- 
self, named  him  to  the  trustees,  and  Irving  was  sent  for  that  his 
"  gifts  "  might  be  ascertained.  The  gifts  proved  to  be  what  London 
wanted.  He  was  brilliantly  successful.  There  was  no  jealousy  of 
originality  in  Hatton  Garden,  but  ardent  welcome  rather  to  a  man 
who  had  something  new  to  say  on  so  worn  a  subject  as  the  Christian 
religion. 

' '  I  have  preached  [he  reported  to  Carlyle  after  three  weeks'  ex- 
perience], but  I  shall  not  repeat  the  compliments  which  burst  upon 
me.  It  is  so  new  a  thing  to  me  to  be  praised  in  my  preaching,  I 
know  not  how  to  look.  I  have  been  hailed  with  the  warmest  re- 
ception. They  anticipate  great  things.  The  Duke  of  York  was 
present  at  a  charity  sermon  Sunday  week;  and  much  more  which 
it  is  needless  to  repeat.  One  thing  would  have  made  your  heart 
feel — my  audience  was  almost  entirely  young  Scotchmen.  No  fa- 
thers, no  mothers,  no  sisters  ;  seats  full  of  youth — and  how  grave ! 
how  attentive!" 

Not  the  Duke  of  York  only,  but  great  persons  of  all  kinds  were 
brought  to  the  Caledonian  Chapel  by  the  report  of  a  new  man  of 
genius  who  really  believed  in  Christianity.  It  happened  that  among 
the  rest  there  came  Mrs.  Strachey,  wife  of  a  distinguished  East 
Indian  director,  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Charles  Buller.  Mr.  Buller  was 
also  a  retired  Anglo-Indian  of  eminence.  Mrs.  Strachey  was  devout 
and  evangelical,  and  had  been  led  to  Hatton  Garden  by  genuine  in- 
terest ;  Mrs.  Buller  had  accompanied  her  in  languid  curiosity ;  she 
was  struck,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  by  Irving's  evident  ability, 
and  she  allowed  herself  to  be  afterwards  introduced  to  him.  She 
had  three  sons — one  the  Charles  Buller  who  won  so  brilliant  a  place 
for  himself  in  Parliament,  and  died  as  he  was  beginning  to  show  to 
what  a  height  he  might  have  risen ;  another,  Arthur,  the  Sir  Arthur 
of  coming  years,  an  Indian  judge;  and  a  third,  Reginald,  who  be- 
came a  clergyman.  Charles  was  then  fifteen,  having  just  left  Har- 
row, and  was  intended,  perhaps,  for  Cambridge ;  Arthur  was  a  year 
or  two  younger,  and  Reginald  was  a  child.  The  Bullers  were  un- 
certain about  the  immediate  education  of  the  two  elder  boys.  Mrs. 
Buller  consulted  Irving,  and  Irving  recommended  the  University  of 
Edinburgh,  adding  that  he  had  a  friend  of  remarkable  quality  there 
who  would  prove  an  excellent  tutor  for  them.  Mrs.  Buller  was 
prompt  in  her  decisions,  if  not  always  stable  in  adhering  to  them. 
A  negotiation  was  opened  and  was  readily  concluded.  Carlyle's 
consent  having  been  obtained,  he  was  instructed  to  expect  the  ar- 
rival of  his  pupils  as  soon  as  arrangements  could  be  made  for  their 
board.  The  family  intended  to  follow,  and  reside  themselves  for  a 
time  in  Scotland.  Those  who  remember  Charles  Buller  will  read 
with  revived  interest  Irving's  first  impressions  of  him : 


82  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Edward  Irving  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  London :  January  4, 1822. 

"...  My  opinion  is  that  in  the  mother  you  will  meet  a  most 
pleasant,  elegant,  and  sensible  woman.  In  the  eldest  boy,  whom  I 
have  conversed  with,  you  will  meet  a  rather  difficult  subject:  clever 
and  acute,  and  not  ill-informed  for  his  age;  but  his  tastes  are  all  given 
to  Boxiana,  Bond  Street,  and  pleasure  gathered  out  of  the  specula- 
tions and  ambitions  of  Harrow  School.  But  while  he  argued  for 
that  style  of  life  against  his  mother  and  me,  he  displayed  a  soul  far 
above  it,  and  sporting  with  it,  and  easily  to  be  dislodged  from  it; 
and  he  confessed,  when  his  mother  was  gone,  that  he  could  apply 
himself  with  great  good-will  for  several  years  to  study,  and  would 
delight  to  travel.  I  told  him  and  his  mother  that  I  should  like  my- 
self to  be  his  tutor,  and  I  spoke  bond  fide,  for  nothing  I  perceive  is 
wanting  but  a  superior  mind  to  give  him  higher  tastes  and  to  breed 
admiration  of  excellence.  You  could  soon  master  him  and  easily 
direct  him,  though  at  the  outset  it  might  be  a  trial  of  your  patience. 
But  I  think  you  ought  to  submit  to  such  a  trial.  You  would  be  no 
worse  by  it.  You  labor  upon  a  good  subject,  for  a  most  accom- 
plished, quite  a  gallant  and  noble  woman,  and  gracious  withal,  and 
willing  to  recompense  your  labors." 

The  salary  was  to  be  200?.  a  year.  The  offer,  so  desirable  in 
many  ways,  came  opportunely,  and  at  Mainhill  was  warmly  wel- 
comed. The  times  were  hard;  the  farm  was  yielding  short  returns. 
For  once  it  was  Carlyle  who  was  to  raise  the  spirits  of  the  family. 

Tlwmas  Carlyle  to  James  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh:  January  12, 1822. 

"...  As  to  the  times,  it  is  an  evil  which  must  be  promptly  and 
effectually  met,  and  many  will  fail  for  want  of  a  remedy ;  perhaps 
ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the  British  farmers  before  you  need  fear 
greatly.  And  if  the  issue  prove  unfortunate,  what  then?  You  can 
stand  it  better  than  many — many  whom  it  would  leave  without  re- 
sources. The  worst  is  over;  we  are  all  past  childhood,  and  with  so 
many  brave  sons  to  stand  between  you  and  danger,  why  should  you 
be  afraid?  For  myself,  the  eldest  and  least  profitable  of  them,  I  do 
sometimes  think  that  Fate  is  about  to  lift  its  heavy  hand  off  me, 
and  that  I  shall  yet  have  it  in  my  power  to  be  useful  to  you  all. 
My  health  is  considerably  better  than  it  was  last  winter.  It  will  re- 
turn completely,  I  trust,  and  my  hopes  are  infinitely  more  extensive 
and  better  founded  than  they  were  at  that  period.  I  have  abun- 
dance of  employment,  and  the  expectation  of  more,  and  more  lucra- 
tive in  process  of  time.  There  is  a  plan  in  particular  about  which 
Irving  wrote  to  me  the  other  day,  that  promises  exceedingly  well. 
It  is  a  tutorship  in  a  London  family,  who  have  two  sons  intended  to 
reside  with  their  parents  in  Edinburgh  till  their  education  is  com- 
pleted. The  mother,  Irving  says,  is  an  excellent  person ;  the  sons 
likely  to  be  more  troublesome  ;  but  the  yearly  salary  is  200£.,  a 
round  solid  sum  for  which  a  man  would  submit  to  much.  Accord- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  83 

marly  I  have  engaged  to  attend  the  youths  when  they  arrive,  which 
they  are  to  do  shortly,  in  quality  o'f  'teacher  for  the  interim,'  for 
three  months,  till  their  parents  arrive,  with  the  understanding  that 
if  I  like  them,  and  they  me,  I  am  to  undertake  the  office  perma- 
nently. " 

To  his  mother  Carlyle  wrote  at  the  same  date : 

"  The  woman,  Irving  says,  is  a  gallant,  accomplished  person,  and 
will  respect  me  well.  "He  warned  her  that  I  had  seen  little  of  life, 
and  was  disposed  to  be  rather  high  in  the  humor  if  not  well  used. 
The  plan,  if  I  like  it  and  be  fit  for  it,  will  be  advantageous  for  me  in 
many  aspects.  I  shall  have  time  for  study  and  convenience  for  it, 
and  plenty  of  cash.  At  the  same  time,  as  it  is  uncertain,  I  do  not 
make  it  my  bower  anchor  by  any  means.  If  it  go  to  nothing  alto- 
gether I  shall  snap  my  finger  and  thumb  in  the  face  of  all  the  In- 
dian judges  of  the  earth,  and  return  to  my  poor  desk  and  quill  with 
as  hard  a  heart  as  ever." 

John  Carlyle  replies  from  Mainhill : 

"We  were  all  glad  to  hear  from  you.  The  SOW.  figures  largely 
in  the  eyes  of  our  father,  but  not  so  largely  and  exclusively,  perhaps, 
as  you  would  be  supposed  to  think,  considering  all  the  bearings  of 
his  character.  He  seems  to  entertain  a  very  great  deal  more  of  re- 
spect towards  you  of  late  than  he  was  wont  to  cherish  when  you 
were  strolling  about  the  moors.  You  can  excuse  him  for  doing  so. 
He  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  persons  in  these  parts,  considering 
the  manner  in  which  he  was  brought  up. " 

The  young  Bullers  arrived  at  Edinburgh  early  in  the  spring. 
They  lodged  with  a  Dr.  Fleming  in  George  Square,  Carlyle  being  in 
daily  attendance. 

"From  the  first  [he  says]  I  found  my  Charles  a  most  manage- 
able, intelligent,  cheery,  and  altogether  welcome  and  agreeable  phe- 
nomenon— quite  a  bit  of  sunshine  in  my  dreary  Edinburgh  element. 
I  was  in  waiting  for  his  brother  and  him  when  they  landed  at  Flem- 
ing's. We  set  instantly  out  on  a  walk  round  by  the  foot  of  Salis- 
bury Crags,  up  from  Holyrood  by  the  Castle  and  Law  Courts,  home 
again  to  George  Square;  and  really  I  recollect  few  more  pleasant 
walks  in  my  life — so  all-intelligent,  seizing  everything  you  said  to 
him  with  such  a  prompt  recognition,  so  loyal  -  hearted,  chivalrous, 
guileless,  so  delighted  evidently  with  me  as  I  was  with  him.  Ar- 
thur, two  years  younger,  kept  mainly  silent,  being  slightly  deaf  too. 
But  I  could  perceive  that  he  also  was  a  fine  little  fellow,  honest,  in- 
telligent, and  kind,  and  that  apparently  I  had  been  much  in  luck  in 
this  didactic  adventure,  which  proved  abundantly  the  fact.  The 
two  youths  took  to  me  with  unhesitating  liking,  and  I  to  them,  and 
we  never  had  anything  of  quarrel,  or  even  of  weariness  and  dreari- 
ness between  us — such  teaching  as  I  never  had  in  any  sphere  before 
or  since.  Charles,  by  his  qualities,  his  ingenuous  curiosities,  his 
brilliancy  of  faculty  and  character,  was  actually  an  entertainment  to 
me  rather  than  a  labor.  If  we  walked  together,  which  I  remember 


84  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

sometimes  happening,  he  was  the  best  company  which  I  could  find 
in  Edinburgh.  I  had  entered  him  in  Dunbar's  third  Greek  class  at 
College.  In  Greek  and  Latin,  in  the  former  in  every  respect,  he 
was  far  my  superior,  and  I  had  to  prepare  my  lessons  by  way  of 
keeping  him  to  his  work  at  Dunbar's.  Keeping  him  to  work  was 
my  one  difficulty,  if  there  was  one,  and  my  essential  function.  I 
tried  to  guide  him  into  reading,  into  solid  inquiry  and  reflection. 
He  got  some  mathematics  from  me,  and  might  have  had  more.  He 
got,  in  brief,  what  expansion  into  wider  fields  of  intellect  and  more 
manful  modes  of  tlu'nking  and  working  my  poor  possibilities  could 
yield  him,  and  was  always  generously  grateful  to  me  afterwards. 
Friends  of  mine  in  a  fine  frank  way,  beyond  what  I  could  be 
thought  to  merit,  he,  Arthur,  and  all  the  family  remained,  till  death 
parted  us."1 

Carlyle  was  now  at  ease  in  his  circumstances.  He  could  help  his 
brother ;  he  had  no  more  money  anxieties.  He  was  living  inde- 
pendently in  his  own  rooms  in  Moray  Street.  His  evenings  were 
his  own,  and  he  had  leisure  to  do  what  he  pleased.  Yet  it  was  not 
his  nature  to  be  contented.  He  was  full  of  thoughts  which  were 
struggling  for  expression,  and  he  was  beginning  that  process  of  in- 
effectual labor  so  familiar  to  every  man  who  has  risen  to  any  height 
in  literature,  of  trying  to  write  something  before  he  knew  what  the 
something  was  to  be  ;  of  craving  to  give  form  to  his  ideas  before 
those  ideas  had  taken  an  organic  shape.  The  result  was  necessarily 
failure,  and  along  with  it  self -exasperation.  He  translated  his 
"  Legendre  "  easily  enough,  and  made  a  successful  book  out  of  it;  but 
he  was  aspiring  to  the  production  of  an  original  work,  and  what  it 
should  be  he  could  not  decide.  Now  it  was  an  essay  on  ' '  Faust, "  now 
a  history  of  the  English  Commonwealth,  now  a  novel  to  be  written 
in  concert  with  Miss  Welsh.  An  article  on  "  Faust "  was  finished, 
but  it  was  crude  and  unsatisfactory.  The  other  schemes  were  com- 
menced and  thrown  aside.  The  workings  of  his  mind  appear  in  his 
letters  to  his  brother : 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  John  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh:  March  15,  1822. 

"Your  two  letters  came  to  hand  about  a  fortnight  ago.  I  read 
them  with  the  pleasure  that  all  your  letters  give  me.  They  exhibit 
the  same  picture  of  young,  arduous,  honest  affection  and  inflexible 
perseverance,  in  worthy  though  difficult  pursuits,  for  which  I  have 
always  loved  you.  The  last  quality,  perseverance,  I  particularly  re- 
spect; it  is  the  very  hinge  of  all  virtues.  On  looking  over  the  world 
the  cause  of  nine  parts  in  ten  of  the  lamentable  failures  which  oc- 
cur in  men's  undertakings,  and  darken  and  degrade  so  much  of  their 
history,  lies  not  in  the  want  of  talents  or  the  will  to  use  them,  but 
in  the  vacillating  and  desultory  mode  of  using  them,  in  flying  from 

i  "Reminiscences,"' vol.  i.  p.  196. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  85 

object  to  object,  in  starting  away  at  each  little  disgust,  and  thus  ap- 
plying the  force  which  might  conquer  any  one  difficulty  to  a  series 
of  diliiculties  so  large  that  no  human  force  can  conquer  them.  The 
smallest  brook  on  earth  by  continuing  to  run  has  hollowed  out  for 
itself  a  considerable  valley  to  flow  in.  The  wildest  tempest  over- 
turns a  few  cottages,  uproots  a  few  trees,  and  leaves  after  a  short 
space  no  mark  behind  it.  Commend  me,  therefore,  to  the  Dutch 
virtue  of  perseverance.  Without  it  all  the  rest  are  little  better  than 
fairy  gold,  which  glitters  in  your  purse,  but  when  taken  to  market 
proves  to  be  slate  or  cinders. 

"This  preaching,  my  beloved  Jack,  is  directed  against  myself, 
who  have  need  of  it — not  against  you,  who  have  none.  '  Improve 
the  passing  hour,  for  it  will  never,  never  return,'  is  a  precept  which 
you  not  only  assent  to  but  practise.  In  myself  study  has  in  a  meas- 
ure ceased  to  be  a  thing  of  which  I  am  capable.  At  no  period  of 
my  life  did  I  spend  my  time  more  unprolitably  than  at  present. 
Science  and  arts  and  book-learning  no  longer  inspire  me  with  any 
suitable  interest,  and  my  ignorance,  my  indecision,  my  weakness  of 
all  kinds,  prevent  me  from  fixing  my  heart  on  any  one  object  of  my 
own  inventing.  Well  did  old  Crispus  say,  'Truly  that  man  lives 
and  enjoys  existence  who  is  intent  on  some  undertaking  and  aims 
at  some  excellent  attainment.'  It  is  a  fact  certain  that  I  must  write 
a  book.  Would  to  Heaven  that  I  had  a  subject  which  I  could  dis- 
cuss, and  at  the  same  time  loved  to  discuss.  I  cannot  say  for  certain 
whether  I  have  the  smallest  genius;  but  I  know  I  have  unrest  enough 
to  serve  a  parish.  Pity  me,  but  I  hope  I  shall  not  always  be  so  piti- 
ful a  thing.  As  for  my  employment  it  goes  on  pretty  fairly.  The 
Bullers  are  boys  of  many  good  qualities  and  many  faults.  I  am  too 
little  beside  them  at  present  to  grapple  on  fair  terms  with  their  inat- 
tentions and  frequent  peccadilloes.  However,  in  the  main  they  are 
very  superior  boys,  both  in  head  and  heart,  and  I  think  the  under- 
taking will  succeed  ultimately." 

Again,  a  few  days  later,  d  propos  of  the  translation  of  "  Legendre :" 

"  I  am  anxious  to  get  all  these  mechanical  things  off  my  hand,  so 
that  I  may  be  able  to  embark  fairly  in  some  more  honorable  enter- 
prise. I  have  had  a  faint  purpose  for  some  weeks  of  writing  some 
c-->;iy  on  the  Genius  and  Character  of  Milton,  if  I  could.  It  is  not 
quite  the  subject  I  should  like,  but  better  than  none,  so  that  I  am 
still  thinking  of  it,  and  determined  at  least  to  read  the  works  that 
relate  to  it.  I  am  already  through  Clarendon's  '  History  of  the  Re- 
bellion.' To-morrow  I  shall  try  to  get  hold  of  Ludlow's  'Memoirs,' 
or  some  other  of  them.  My  condition  is  rather  strange  at  present. 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  impelled  to  write;  as  if  I  had  also  very  little  pow- 
er to  do  it ;  but  at  the  same  time  as  if  I  had  altogether  lost  the  facul- 
ty of  exerting  that  power.  It  is  these  'coorsed  nervoiis  disorders.' 
If  I  had  but  strong  health!  But  what  is  the  use  of  talking?  If  I 
had  a  supereminent  genius,  the  end  would  be  still  better  attained, 
and  the  wish  is  perhaps  just  about  as  reasonable.  Should  I  never 
be  healthy. again,  it  will  not  aid  me  to  complain,  to  sit  and  whine, 
'  put  finger  in  the  eye  and  sob, '  because  my  longings  are  not  grati- 
L— 5 


86  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

fieri.  Better  to  do  what  I  can  while  it  is  called  to-day ;  and  if  the 
edifice  I  create  be  but  a  dog-hutch,  it  is  more  honorable  to  have 
built  a  dog-hutch  than  to  have  dreamed  of  building  a  palace.  There- 
fore, Jack,  I  mean  to  try  if  I  can  bestir  myself.  Art  is  long  and  life 
is  short;  and  of  the  threescore  and  ten  years  allotted  to  the  liver, 
how  small  a  portion  is  spent  in  anything  but  vanity  and  vice,  if  not 
in  wretchedness,  and  worse  than  unprofitable  struggling  with  the 
adamantine  laws  of  fate !  I  am  w.ae  when  I  think  of  all  this,  but  it 
cannot  be  helped." 


CHAPTER  X. 

A.D.  1822.    JET.  27. 

THE  correspondence  with  Haddington  meanwhile  grew  more  in- 
timate. The  relations  between  tutor  and  pupil  developed,  or  prom- 
ised to  develop,  into  literary  partnership.  Miss  Welsh  sent  Carlyle 
her  verses  to  examine  and  correct.  Carlyle  discussed  his  plans  and 
views  with  her,  and  they  proposed  to  write  books  in  concert.  But 
the  friendship,  at  least  on  her  part,  was  literary  only.  Carlyle,  in 
one  of  his  earliest  letters  to  her,  did  indeed  adopt  something  of  the 
ordinary  language  of  gallantry  natural  in  a  young  man  when  ad- 
dressing a  beautiful  young  lady.  But  she  gave  him  to  understand 
immediately  that  such  a  tone  was  disagreeable  to  her,  and  that  their 
intimacy  could  only  continue  on  fraternal  and  sisterly  terms.  Car- 
lyle obeyed  without  suspecting  the  reason.  He  had  known  that 
Irving  was  engaged  to  Miss  Martin.  It  never  occurred  to  him  as 
possible  that  he  could  be  thinking  of  any  one  else,  or  any  one  else 
of  him. 

As  for  Irving  himself,  the  reception  which  he  had  met  with  in 
London  was  all  that  he  could  desire.  A  brilliant  career  appeared 
to  be  opening  before  him,  and  ardent  and  enthusiastic  as  he  was,  ho 
had  allowed  his  future  in  all  points  to  be  colored  by  his  wishes. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  Hatton  Garden  committee  would 
confirm  his  London  appointment.  He  would  then  be  able  to  many, 
and  his  fate  would  have  to  be  immediately  decided.  He  was  to  re- 
turn to  Scotland  in  the  spring  to  be  ordained — he  was  as  yet  only  in 
his  novitiate ;  meanwhile  he  was  in  high  spirits,  and  his  letters  were 
of  the  rosiest  color : 

Edward  Irving  to  Tliomaa  Carlyle. 

"  February  22, 1822. 

"I  have  taken  new  wing  by  my  visit  to  London.  I  see  my  way 
distinctly.  My  intellect  is  putting  out  new  powers,  at  least  I  fancy 
so;  and  if  God  endow  me  with  His  grace,  I  foresee  service  to  His 
Church.  My  ambition — a  sanctified  one,  I  trust — is  taking  another 
direction :  no  less  than  an  endeavor  to  bring  the  spirit  and  powers 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  87 

of  the  ancient  eloquence  into  the  pulpit,  which  appears  to  me  the 
only  place  in  modern  manners  for  its  revival.  I  would  like  to  hear 
your  thoughts  upon  this  subject,  both  as  to  the  correctness  of  the 
idea  and  its  proper  execution. 

"It  is  for  an  audience  chiefly  I  am  so  fond  of  London ;  perhaps 
as  much  for  a  school  to  learn  in  by  conversation  and  observation, for 
which  I  think  nature  has  fitted  ine  more  than  by  books.  I  have  a 
wonderful  aptitude  to  sympathize  with  men.  Their  manner  of  feel- 
ing, of  thinking  also,  is  clear  to  me,  and,  even  when  false,  is  interest- 
ing from  a  desire  to  set  them  right.  Jane  Welsh  accuses  me  of  in- 
tolerance, but  I  think  she  is  wrong,  althgugh  I  think  I  have  some 
little  skirmishes  for  approbation.  "But  this  is  not  deep,  and  will 
yield  according  as  I  receive  the  share  which  is  my  due. 

' '  And  so  will  yours,  my  dear  Carlyle ;  you  have  within  you  pow- 
ers of  good  the  world  is  not  alive  to,  and  which  shall  yet  shine  out 
to  the  confusion  of  many  who  discredit  them.  Your  natural  power 
of  devotion  will  yet  have  utterance;  and  your  deep-seated  reverence 
of  religion — the  largest  expansion  and  highest  attainment  of  the  soul, 
which  makes  your  mother  so  superior  to  those  around  her — will  yet 
make  her  son  superior  among  the  rich  and  literary  men  that  are 
hereafter  to  company  with  him." 

In  March  the  trial  period  had  ended.  The  trustees  were  satisfied; 
Irving  was  to  be  minister  of  the  Hatton  Garden  chapel.  He  return- 
ed to  Glasgow  in  March  to  prepare  for  his  ordination.  On  April 
29  he  wrote  to  Carlyle  again : 

"It  is  now  at  length  determined  that  I  go  to  London.  I  have 
received  the  call,  most  respectably  signed ;  and,  what  with  sub- 
scriptions and  the  first  of  the  seat-rents,  the  security  of  50(M.  a  year. 
I  go  to  Annan  this  day  three  weeks,  where  I  am  to  abide  during  the 
month  of  June  and  obtain  ordination,  then  to  London,  without  see- 
ing Edinburgh;  and  yet  I  would  like  to  see  you  could  you  come 
through  at  the  time  of  the  sacrament.  Many  things  oppress  my 
spirit  at  the  present  moment,  nothing  more  than  parting  with  these 
most  worthy  and  kind-hearted  people.  Some  other  things  also 
which  I  cannot  render  into  language  unto  my  own  mind.  There  is 
an  independence  about  my  character,  a  want  of  resemblance  espe- 
cially with  others  of  my  profession,  that  will  cause  me  to  be  appre- 
hended ill  of.  I  hope  to  come  through  honestly  and  creditably. 
God  grant  it!" 

I  am  not  writing  Irving's  history,  save  so  far  as  it  intersects  with 
that  of  Carlyle,  and  I  must  hasten  to  the  catastrophe  of  their  uncon- 
scious rivalry.  The  "other  things "  which  he  could  not  render  into 
language,  the  "independence  of  character  which  might  cause  him 
to  be  apprehended  ill  of,"  referred  to  his  engagement,  and  to  his 
intentions  with  respect  to  it.  Miss  Martin  had  been  true  to  him 
through  many  years  of  tedious  betrothal,  and  he  was  bound  to  her 
by  the  strictest  obligations  of  honor  and  conscience.  But  it  is  only 
in  novels  that  a  hero  can  behave  with  entire  propriety.  Folded 


88  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

among  Irving's  letters  to  Miss  Welsh  is  a  passionate  sonnet  ad- 
dressed to  her,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it  (she  had  preserved  his 
verses  and  so  much  of  the  accompanying  letter  as  was  written  on 
the  opposite  page  of  the  paper)  a  fragment,  written  evidently  at  this 
period,  in  which  he  told  her  that  he  was  about  to  inform  Miss  Mar- 
tin and  her  father  of  the  condition  of  his  feelings.  It  seems  that 
he  did  so,  and  that  the  answer  was  unfavorable  to  his  hopes.  The 
Martins  stood  by  their  contract,  as  justice  and  Scotch  custom  en- 
tirely entitled  them  to  do.  Miss  Welsh  had  refused  to  listen  to  his 
addresses  until  he  was  free ;  and  Irving,  though  he  confessed  after- 
wards (I  use  his  own  words)  that  the  struggle  had  almost  "made 
his  faith  and  principles  to  totter,"  submitted  to  the  inevitable.  He 
must  have  carried  the  news  to  Haddington  in  person ;  what  had 
passed  there  may  be  gathered  from  a  letter  which  he  wrote  to 
her  from  Carlyle's  lodgings  in  Edinburgh,  to  which  he  had  gone 
after  all : 

Edward  Irving  to  Miss  Welsh. 

"My  well -beloved  Friend  and  Pupil, — When  I  think  of  you 
my  mind  is  overspread  with  the  most  affectionate  and  tender  re- 
gard, which  I  neither  know  to  name  nor  to  describe.  One  thing  I 
know,  it  would  long  ago  have  taken  the  form  of  the  most  devoted 
attachment  but  for  an  intervening  circumstance,  and  showed  itself 
and  pleaded  itself  before  your  heart  by  a  thousand  actions  from 
which  I  must  now  restrain  myself.  Heaven  grant  me  its  grace 
to  restrain  myself ;  and,  forgetting  my  own  enjoyments,  may  I  be 
enabled  to  combine  into  your  single  self  all  that  duty  and  plighted 
faith  leave  at  my  disposal.  When  I  am  in  your  company  my  whole 
soul  would  rush  to  serve  you,  and  my  tongue  trembles  to  speak  my 
heart's  fulness.  But  I  am  enabled  to  forbear,  and  have  to  find  other 
avenues  than  the  natural  ones  for  the  overflowing  of  an  affection 
which  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  confine  itself  within  the  ave- 
nues of  nature  if  they  had  all  been  opened.  But  I  feel  within  me 
the  power  to  prevail,  and  at  once  to  satisfy  duty  to  another  and  af- 
fection to  you.  I  stand  truly  upon  ground  which  seems  to  shake 
and  give  way  beneath  me,  but  my  help  is  in  Heaven.  Bear  with 
thus  much,  my  early  charge  and  my  present  friend,  from  one  who 
loves  to  help  and  defend  you,  who  would  rather  die  than  wrong  you 
or  see  you  wronged.  Say  that  I  shall  speak  no  more  of  the  painful 
struggle  that  I  am  undergoing,  and  I  shall  be  silent.  If  you  allow 
me  to  speak,  then  I  shall  reveal  to  you  the  features  of  a  virtuous 
contention,  to  be  crowned,  I  pray  and  trust,  with  a  Christian  tri- 
umph. It  is  very  extraordinary  that  this  weak  nature  of  mine  can 
bear  two  affections,  both  of  so  intense  a  kind,  and  yet  I  feel  it  can. 
It  shall  feed  the  one  with  faith,  and  duty,  and  chaste  affection ;  the 
other  with  paternal  and  friendly  love,  no  less  pure,  no  less  assidu- 
ous, no  less  constant — in  return  seeking  nothing  but  permission  and 
indulgence. 

"  I  was  little  comforted  by  Rousseau's  letters,  though  holding  out 
a  most  admirable  moral ;  but  much  comforted  and  confirmed  by  the 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  89 

few  words  which  your  noble  heart  dictated  the  moment  before  I  left 
you.  Oh,  persevere,  my  admirable  pupil,  in  the  noble  admirations 
you  have  taken  up.  Let  affectionateness  and  manly  firmness  be  the 
qualities  to  which  you  yield  your  love,  and  your  life  shall  be  hon- 
orable ;  advance  your  admiration  somewhat  higher,  and  it  shall  be 
everlastingly  happy.  Oh,  do  not  forbid  me  from  rising  in  my  com- 
munications with  one  so  capable  of  the  loftiest  conceptions.  For- 
bid me  not  to  draw  you  upwards  to  the  love  and  study  of  your  Crea- 
tor, which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  I  have  returned  Rousseau. 
Count  forever,  my  dear  Jane,  upon  my  last  efforts  to  minister  to 
your  happiness,  present  and  everlasting. 

"  From  your  faithful  friend  and  servant, 

"EDWARD  IRVING. " 

I  should  not  unveil  a  story  so  sacred  in  itself,  and  in  which  the 
public  have  no  concern,  merely  to  amuse  their  curiosity ;  but  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  character  was  profoundly  affected  by  this  early  disappoint- 
ment, and  cannot  be  understood  without  a  knowledge  of  it.  Car- 
lyle  himself,  though  acquainted  generally  with  the  circumstances, 
never  realized  completely  the  intensity  of  the  feeling  Avhich  had 
been  crushed.  Irving's  marriage  was  not  to  take  place  for  a  year, 
and  it  was  still  possible  that  something  might  happen  in  the  inter- 
val. He  went  back  to  his  place  in  London,  flung  himself  into  relig- 
ious excitement  as  grosser  natures  go  into  drink,  and  took  popular- 
ity by  storm.  The  fashionable  world  rushed  after  him.  The  streets 
about  Ilatton  Garden  were  blocked  with  carriages.  His  chapel  was 
like  a  theatre,  to  which  the  admission  was  by  tickets.  Great  states- 
men went  with  the  stream.  Brougham,  Canning,  Mackintosh  be- 
spoke their  seats,  that  they  might  hear  the  new  actor  on  the  theo- 
logical stage.  Irving  concluded  that  he  had  a  divine  mission  to  re- 
establish practical  Christianity.  He  felt  himself  honored  above  all 
men,  yet  he  bore  his  honors  humbly,  and  in  his  quiet  intervals  his 
thoughts  still  flowed  towards  Haddington.  Miss  Welsh's  husband 
he  could  not  be  ;  but  he  could  still  be  her  guide,  her  spiritual  father 
— some  link  might  remain  which  would  give  him  an  excuse  for  writ- 
ing to  her.  As  long  as  he  was  actually  unmarried  there  was  still 
hope,  but  he  tried  to  avoid  hinting  at  so  remote  a  possibility. 

Edward  Irving  to  Miss  Welsh. 

"  London  :  September  9, 1822. 

"My  dearest  Friend, — I  said  in  the  last  walk  which  we  enjoyed 
together  on  a  Sabbath  evening — when  by  the  solemn  stillness  of  the 
scene,  no  less  than  the  pathetic  character  of  our  discourse,  my  mind 
was  in  that  solemn  frame  which  is  my  delight — that  in  future  I  was 
to  take  upon  me  in  my  letters  the  subject  of  your  religious  and  mor- 
al improvement,  leaving  to  other  correspondents  matters  of  litera- 
ture, taste,  and  entertainment.  But  I  have  not  forgot  that  you  dis- 
charged me  from  preaclu'ng  to  you  in  my  letters,  and  I  fear  that 


90  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

what  you  humorously  call  preaching  is  the  very  thing  which  I  shall 
have  to  do  if  I  fulfil  my  resolution.  Now  I  can  chat,  though  some- 
what awkwardly  I  confess ;  and  ten  years  agone  I  had  a  little  hu- 
mor, which  has  now  nearly  deceased  from  neglect.  My  mind  was 
then  light  and  airy,  and  loved  to  utter  its  conceptions,  and  to  look 
at  them  and  laugh  at  them  when  uttered.  Then  I  could  have  writ- 
ten letters  trippingly,  and  poured  out  whatever  was  uppermost  in 
my  mind;  but  I  can  do  that  no  longer.  I  am  aiming  from  morning 
till  night  to  be  a  serious  and  wise  man,  though  God  knows  how 
little  I  succeed.  The  shortness  of  life  is  evermore  in  my  eye,  the 
wasting  of  it  before  my  conscience  ;  the  responsibility  of  it  over- 
whelms me,  and  the  vanity  of  it  ashames  me.  I  cannot  make  a 
mock  heroic  of  these  things,  or  laugh  them  away.  I  was  never  so 
far  lost  to  good  sense  and  good  feeling  as  to  try.  So  they  hang  over 
me,  and  I  must  either  sink  down  into  a  melancholy  forlorn  creature, 
weeping  and  sighing  and  talking  over  the  difficulties  of  living  well, 
or  I  must  rise  up  in  the  strength  of  Him  who  made  me,  and  en- 
deavor to  work  my  passage  through  the  best  and  surest  way  I  can. 
This  last  I  have  chosen,  like  the  wise  men  who  have  gone  before  me, 
and  by  God's  help  I  will  fulfil  it. 

"Now,  my  dear  friend,  bear  with  me  if  I  violate  the  law  of  letter- 
writing  you  imposed  on  me  by  daring  to  be  serious,  and  to  speak  to 
¥:>u  whom  I  love  of  those  things  and  that  strain  which  most  I  love, 
he  fine  promise  of  your  mind  has  been  to  me  the  theme  of  much 
conversation  and  of  far  more  delightful  thought.  It  is  not  a  part 
of  my  character  to  withhold  my  admiration  from  others,  or  even 
from  those  I  admire,  and  you  yourself  have  often  charged  me  with 
exaggerating  your  gifts.  Your  industry  to  get  knowledge,  and  to 
accomplish  your  mind  with  elegant  learning,  no  one  can  exaggerate. 
Your  enthusiasm  towards  the  excellent  and  rare  specimens  of  human 
genius  is  beyond  that  of  any  other  I  know  ;  and  your  desire  to  be 
distinguished  by  achievements  of  mind  is  equalled  only  by  your 
contempt  of  all  other  distinctions.  Now  there  is  in  these  qualities 
of  character  not  only  promise  but  assurance  of  the  highest  excellence, 
if  God  give  time  for  all  to  ripen,  and  you  give  ear  to  his  directions 
for  bringing  the  human  character  to  perfection.  Now  it  does  give 
me  great  hope  that  God  will  yet  be  pleased  to  open  your  mind  to 
the  highest  of  all  knowledge,  the  knowledge  of  his  Blessed  Son,  and 
gain  therewith  the  highest  of  all  delights,  of  being  like  his  Sou  in 
character  and  in  destiny;  when  I  see  you  not  alienated  from  men  of 
genius  by  their  being  men  of  religion,  but  attracted  to  them  I  think 
rather  the  more. 

' '  I  could  wish,  indeed — and  forgive  me  when  I  make  free  to  sug- 
gest it — that  your  mind  were  less  anxious  for  the  distinction  of  be- 
ing enrolled  amidst  those  whom  this  world  hath  crowned  with  their 
admiration,  than  among  those  whom  God  hath  crowned  with  his 
approval.  There  are  two  things  to  be  kept  in  view  in  judging  of 
the  worth  of  men — first  what  powers  they  had,  and  then  what  uses 
they  turned  them  to.  You  and  I  agree  always  when  we  meet  with 
a  person  of  power,  but  you  do  not  go  so  far  as  I  in  exacting  from 
them  a  good  use  of  it.  I  do  not  wish  it  turned  to  arts  of  cruelty, 
which  satire  and  ridicule  and  scorn  are.  I  can  endure  this  no  more 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  91 

than  I  can  endure  the  tyranny  of  a  despot  or  the  wilfulness  of  a  man, 
of  power.  They  prey  upon  the  physical  rights  and  comforts  of  their 
underlings;  the  others  prey  upon  the  feelings,  by  far  the  tenderer 
and  nobler  part.  I  do  not  wish  it  turned  to  the  aggrandizement  and 
adulation  of  its  possessor ;  for  he  doth  not  possess  it  by  virtue  of 
himself,  but  by  his  Maker  and  his  Preserver.  Keep  away  these 
two  things,  the  cruel  treatment  of  another,  and  the  deification 
of  energy,  and  I  will  not  be  offended  with  the  exercise  of  mental 
powers  ;  but  to  satisfy  me  I  seek  for  much  besides  ;  I  must  have  it 
husbanded  and  not  wasted  in  indolence,  for  that  is  as  bad  almost  as 
the  indulgence  of  superiority.  Then  I  must  have  it  turned  to  the 
discovery  of  truth,  and  to  the  undeceiving  of  men,  then  to  lead  them 
into  the  way  of  their  well-being.  Then  finally,  which  should  have 
been  first,  or  rather  which  should  be  the  moving  principle  of  the 
whole,  to  do  honor  unto  God  who  has  made  us  masters  of  our  pow- 
ers. Find  people  of  this  kind  from  the  annals  of  the  world ;  admire 
them,  love  them,  be  like  them,  and  God  enroll  you  among  them. 
Oh,  how  few  I  find,  my  dear  Jane,  hardly  have  I  found  a  single  one, 
who  can  stand  the  intoxication  of  high  talents,  or  resist  presuming 
to  lord  it  over  others.  They  cry  out  against  kings  for  their  arbitra- 
ry tempers.  I  think  men  of  talents  are  more  so.  Nothing  can  over- 
come it  but  the  power  and  wisdom  of  God,  which  is  in  the  gospel  of 
his  dear  Son,  your  Saviour  and  mine,  and  the  Saviour  of  all  who 
believe  ;  who,  though  the  brightness  of  his  Father's  glory  and  the 
express  image  of  his  person,  and  speaking  as  no  man  spoke,  took 
upon  him  the  form  of  a  servant,  and  submitted  to  the  death  of  the 
cross.  Therefore  God  highly  exalted  him,  and  hath  given  him  a 
name  above  every  name.  So  also  will  he  exalt  all  others  who  like 
him  use  those  their  high  gifts  and  appointments  to  the  service  of 
God  and  their  fellows. 

"  Enough  of  this,  for  I  have  much  more  to  speak  of.  Of  my  own 
condition  I  can  speak  with  great  satisfaction,  in  as  far  as  favor  and 
friendship  are  concerned,  and  the  outward  popularity  of  my  calling. 
I  have  no  evidence  to  judge  by  farther  than  that  my  chapel  is  filled, 
and  that  their  patient  hearing  of  discourses,  each  an  hour  and  a 
quarter  long,  testifies  they  are  not  dissatisfied  with  the  stuff  they  are 
made  of.  In  another  respect  I  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  God 
has  revealed  to  me  of  late  the  largeness  of  my  own  vanity  and  the 
worthlessness  of  my  own  services,  which,  if  he  follows  up  with  far- 
ther light  upon  the  best  way  for  me  to  act  in  future,  and  with  strength 
to  act  as  he  teaches  me,  then  I  have  no  doubt  of  a  great  increase  both 
of  happiness  and  fruit. 

"  I  have  made  no  acquaintance  in  London  of  any  literary  eminence, 
but  I  shall,  I  doubt  not,  in  good  time.  I  derive  little  advantage  from 
my  acquaintances,  my  course  is  so  different  from  theirs.  The  next 
moment  I  have  unemployed  I  devote  to  my  friend  Carlyle,  to  whom 
I  have  not  yet  found  time  to  write.  Oh  that  God  would  give  rest  to 
his  mind,  and  instruct  him  in  his  truth.  I  meditate  a  work  upon  the 
alienation  of  clever  men  from  their  Maker.  But  this  shall  not  hinder 
me  from  taking  up  the  life  of  St.  Paul,  which  deserves  certainly  the 
highest  strain  of  poetry,  but  I  am  utterly  unable  for  such  a  task. 

' '  My  love  to  your  mother.    Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  see  you  both,  to 


92  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

live  with  you  in  the  quietness  and  love  which  I  have  so  often ,l 

The  next  time  I  come  to  live  with  you  I  hope  I  shall  be  more  worthy 
of  your  kindness,  being  more  satisfied  with  myself,  and  standing 
firmer  in  the  favor  of  my  God,  whom  that  my  dear  Jane  may  always 
set  before  her  is  the  first  and  last  prayer  of  her  most  true  and  faith- 
ful friend,  EDWARD  IRVING." 

This  letter  is  one  of  Irving's  best,  simple,  true,  and  from  his  heart, 
while  it  is  kept  firmly  within  the  lines  which  he  had  prescribed  for 
himself.  Others  were  less  collected,  and  perhaps  less  resigned,  lie 
would  lie  on  his  sofa  in  the  December  midnight,  listening  to  the  music 
of  the  streets,  and  then  pour  out  his  emotions  to  Mrs.  Welsh,  telling 
her  how  Haddington  had  been  a  haven  of  peace  to  him;  how  the 
happiest  days  of  his  life  had  been  spent  under  her  roof;  how  "no- 
where had  thoughts  of  piety  and  virtue  come  to  him  so  little  sought 
as  with  her  and  his  dear  pupil."  Every  day  in  his  walk  he  passed 
a  window  where  there  was  a  portrait  of  Miss  Kelly  as  Juliet.  "It 
had  the  cast  of  Miss  Welsh's  eye,"  he  said,  "  in  one  of  its  most  pierc- 
ing moods,  which  he  could  never  stand  to  meet,  the  roundness  of  her 
forehead,  and  somewhat  of  the  archness  of  her  smile."  He  was  very 
miserable  at  times,  but  he  struggled  with  his  weakness.  His  duty 
was  plain  and  peremptory,  and  should  be  done,  let  the  cost  be  what 
it  might. 

Though  he  seldom  found  time  to  write  to  Carlyle,  he  had  not  for- 
gotten him.  He  was  eager  to  see  him  in  the  position  which  of  right 
belonged  to  him,  especially  to  see  him  settled  in  London.  "Scot- 
land breeds  men, "  he  said,  ' '  but  England  rears  them. "  He  celebrated 
his  friend's  praises  in  London  circles.  He  had  spoken  of  him  to 
Mr.  Taylor,  the  proprietor  of  the  London  Magazine.  Carlyle  had 
meditated  a  series  of  "portraits  of  men  of  genius  and  character." 
Taylor,  on  Irving's  recommendation,  undertook  to  publish  these 
sketches  in  monthly  numbers,  paying  Carlyle  sixteen  guineas  a  sheet. 
Carlyle  closed  with  the  proposal,  and  a  "Life  of  Schiller"  was  to  be 
the  first  to  appear.  Irving's  unwearied  kindness  unfortunately  did 
not  help  him  out  of  his  own  entanglements.  The  year  passed,  and 
then  he  married,  and  from  that  time  the  old,  simple,  unconscious 
Irving  ceased  to  exist.  His  letters,  once  so  genial  and  transparent, 
became  verbose  and  stilted.  Though  "faith  and  principle  "  escaped 
unscathed,  his  intellect  was  shattered.  He  plunged  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  great  ocean  of  unrealities.  When  his  illusions  failed 
him  his  health  gave  way,  and  after  flaming  for  a  few  years  as  a 
world's  wonder,  he  died,  still  young  in  age,  worn  out  and  broken- 
hearted. "  There  would  have  been  no  tongues,"  Mrs.  Carlyle  once 
said,  "had  Irving  married  me." 

>  Word  omitted. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  93 

Carlyle,  meanwhile,  was  working  with  his  pupils,  and  so  far  as 
circumstances  went,  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  The  boys  gave 
him  little  trouble.  He  was  no  longer  obliged  to  write  articles  for 
Brewster  to  support  himself.  The  "  Legendre  "  was  well  done — so 
well  that  he  was  himself  pleased  with  it. 

"  I  still  remember  [he  says]  a  happy  forenoon  (Sunday,  I  fear)  in 
which  I  did  a  Fifth  book  (or  complete  Doctrine  of  Proportion)  for 
that  work.  Complete  really  and  lucid,  and  yet  one  of  the  briefest 
ever  known.  It  was  begun  and  done  that  forenoon,  and  I  have,  ex- 
cept correcting  the  press  next  week,  never  seen  it  since;  but  still  feel 
as  if  it  was  right  enough  and  felicitous  in  its  kind.  I  got  only  501. 
for  my  entire  trouble  in  that '  Legendre,'  and  had  already  ceased  to  lie 
the  least  proud  of  mathematical  prowess;  but  it  was  an  honest  job 
of  work  honestly  done,  though  perhaps  for  bread-and-water  wages, 
and  that  was  such  an  improvement  upon  wages  producing,  jji  Jean 
Paul's  phrase,  '  only  water  without  the  bread. ' " 

He  ought  to  have  been  contented ;  but  content  was  not  in  him. 
Small  discomforts  were  exaggerated  by  his  imagination  till  they 
actually  became  the  monsters  which  his  fancy  represented.  He  was 
conscious  of  exceptional  power  of  some  kind,  and  was  longing  to 
make  use  of  it,  yet  was  unable  as  yet  to  find  out  what  sort  of  power 
it  wras,  or  what  to  do  with  it, 

"  If  I  fail  [he  wrote  to  Miss  Welsh  at  the  beginning  of  the  Buller 
engagement]  to  effect  anything  in  my  day  and  generation,  anything 
to  justify  Providence  for  having  called  me  into  his  universe,  the 
weakness  of  my  ability,  not  of  my  will,  shall  be  to  blame.  I  have 
much  to  strive  with,  much  to  do.  The  few  conceptions  that  act- 
ually exist  within  me  are  scattered  in  a  thousand  directions,  dis- 
tracted,  dismembered, without  form  and  void;  and  I  have  yet  gained 
no  right  mastery  of  my  pen,  no  right  familiarity  with  the  public,  to 
express  them  even  if  worth  expressing.  Nevertheless  I  must  perse- 
vere. What  motives  have  I  not  which  man  can  have?  The  bright- 
est hopes  and  the  darkest  fears.  On  the  one  side  obscurity  and  iso- 
lation, the  want  of  all  that  can  render  life  endurable,  and  death, '  sad 
refuge  from  the  storms  of  fate,'  without  even  an  approving  con- 
science to  disarm  it  of  its  sting.  On  the  other  is .  I  tell  you, 

my  friend,  to  be  in  no  pain  for  me.  Either  I  shall  escape  from  this 
obscure  sojourn,  or  persist  as  I  ought  in  trying  it.  The  game  is  deep, 
but  I  must  play  it  out.  I  can  no  other,  so  away  with  fear. 

"Meanwhile  I  am  not  unhappy.  It  is  true  I  have  none  to  love 
me  here,  none  that  I  can  love.  But  I  have  long  been  studying  the 
painful  lesson  to  live  alone,  and  the  task  is  easier  than  it  was.  I 
enjoy  quiet  and  free  air  and  returning  health.  I  have  business  in 
abundance  for  the  present,  and  the  future  lies  before  me  vaguely, 
but  with  some  glimpses  of  a  solemn  beauty  irradiating  all  its  gloom. 
When  I  compare  the  aspect  of  the  world  to  me  now  with  what  it 
was  twelve  months  ago,  I  am  far  from  desponding  or  complaining." 

If  he  could  not  express  himself  to  his  satisfaction  when  trying  to 

5* 


94  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

write  for  the  public,  he  could  describe  well  enough  anything  which 
happened  to  him,  when  telling  it  in  a  private  letter.  To  his  mother 
he  was  the  best  of  correspondents.  Here  is  a  little  incident  charac- 
teristic both  in  manner  and  matter : 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Nairihill. 

"  3  Moray  Street,  Edinburgh :  June  2, 1822. 

"It  will  give  you  pleasure  to  know  that  I  continue  improving  in 
that  most  important  of  qualities,  good  health.  The  bathing  does  me 
great  good,  and  you  need  be  under  no  apprehension  of  my  drown- 
ing. Unfortunately  my  mode  of  sleeping  is  too  irregular  to  admit 
of  my  bathing  constantly  before  breakfast.  Small  noises  disturb 
me  and  keep  me  awake,  though  I  always  get  to  sleep  at  last,  and 
happily  such  disturbances  occur  but  rarely.  Some  two  weeks  ago 
I  had  a  little  adventure  with  an  ugly  messan,  which  a  crazy  half- 
pay  captain  had  thought  proper  to  chain  in  his  garden,  or,  rather, 
grass-plot,  about  twenty  yards  from  my  window.  The  pug  felt  un- 
happy in  its  new  situation,  began  repining  very  pitifully  in  its  own 
way;  at  one  time  snarling,  grinning,  yelping,  as  if  it  cared  not  wheth- 
er it  were  handed  then  or  to-morrow;  at  another,  whining,  howling, 
screaming,  as  if  it  meant  to  excite  the  compassion  of  the  earth  at 
large — this,  at  intervals,  for  the  whole  night.  By  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  I  would  have  given  a  guinea  of  gold  for  its  hind-legs  firm 
in  my  right  hand  by  the  side  of  a  stone  wall. l  Next  day  the  crazy 
captain  removed  it,  being  threatened  by  the  street  at  large  with  pros- 
ecution if  he  did  not.  But  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  being 
tired  of  keeping  the  cur  in  his  kitchen,  he  again  let  it  out,  and  just 
as  I  was  falling  asleep,  about  one  o'clock,  the  same  musical,  '  most 
musical,  most  melancholy'  serenade  aroused  me  from  my  vague 
dreamings.  I  listened  about  half  an  hour,  then  rose  indignantly, 
put  on  my  clothes,  went  out,  and  charged  the  watchman  to  put  an 
instant  stop  to  the  accursed  thing.  The  watchman  could  not  for 
the  world  interfere  with  a  gentleman's  rest  at  that  hour,  but  next 
morning  he  would  certainly,  etc.,  etc.  I  asked  to  be  shown  the 
door,  and  pulling  the  crazy  captain's  bell  about  six  times,  his  ser- 
vant at  length  awoke,  and  inquired  with  a  tremulous  voice,  what 
was  it  ?  I  alluded  to  the  dog,  and  demanded  the  instant,  the  total, 
the  everlasting  removal  of  it,  or  to-morrow  I  would  see  whether  jus- 
tice was  in  Edinburgh,  or  the  shadow  of  British  law  in  force.  '  Do 
you  hear  that?'  said  the  Irish  knight  of  the  rattle  and  lantern.  She 
heard  it  and  obeyed,  and  no  wretched  messan  has  since  disturbed  my 
slumbers. 

' '  You  ask  about  my  home  coming  [he  continues,  the  dog  being 
disposed  of] ;  but  this  must  be  a  very  uncertain  story  for  a  while. 
I  cannot  count  on  any  such  thing  till  the  Buller  people2  are  arrived, 
and  in  the  event  of  my  farther  engaging  with  them,  my  period  of 
absence  must  of  course  be  short.  However,  there  is  good  and  cheap 
conveyance  to  Dumfries  daily,  and  it  shall  go  hard  if  I  do  not  steal 

1  Carlylc's  mode  of  speech :  he  was  exceptionally  tender  to  animals. 

2  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  Buller. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  95 

a  week  or  so  to  spend  at  home.     It  is  the  dearest  blessing  of  my  life 
that  I  have  you  to  write  to  and  to  care  for  me. 

' '  I  am  in  very  fair  health  considering  everything  :  about  a  hun- 
dred times  as  well  as  I  was  last  year,  and  as  happy  as  you  ever  saw 
me.  In  fact,  I  want  nothing  but  steady  health  of  body  (which  I 
shall  get  in  time)  to  be  one  of  the  comfortablest  persons  of  my  ac- 
quaintance. I  have  also  books  to  write  and  things  to  say  and  do  in 
this  world  which  few  wot  of.  This  has  the  air  of  vanity,  but  it  is 
not  altogether  so.  I  consider  that  my  Almighty  Author  has  given 
me  some  glimmerings  of  superior  understanding  and  mental  gifts  ; 
and  I  should  reckon  it  the  worst  treason  against  him  to  neglect  im- 
proving and  using  to  the  very  utmost  of  my  power  these  his  bounti- 
ful mercies.  At  some  future  day  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  stand 
above  these  mean  men  whom  I  have  never  yet  stood  with.  But  we 
need  not  prate  of  this.  I  am  very  much  satisfied  with  my  teaching. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  pleasure  rather  than  a  task.  The  Bullers  are  quite 
another  sort  of  boys  than  I  have  been  used  to,  and  treat  me  in  an- 
other sort  of  manner  than  tutors  are  used  to.  When  I  think  of  Gen- 
eral Dixon's  brats, '  and  how  they  used  to  vex  me,  I  often  wonder  I 
had  not  broken  their  backs  at  once,  and  left  them.  This  would  not 
have  done,  to  be  sure;  but  the  temptation  was  considerable.  The 
eldest  Buller  is  one  of  the  cleverest  boys  I  have  ever  seen.  He  de- 
lights to  inquire  and  argue  and  be  demolished.  He  follows  me 
almost  nigh  home  every  night.  Very  likely  I  may  bargain  finally 
with  the  people,  but  I  have  no  certain  intimation  on  the  subject ; 
and,  in  fact,  I  do  not  care  immensely  whether  or  not.  There  is 
bread  for  the  diligent  to  be  gained  in  a  thousand  ways." 

In  July  the  London  season  ended,  and  the  parent  Bullers  arrived 
in  Edinburgh  with  their  youngest  boy.  They  took  a  large  house 
and  settled  for  the  autumn  and  winter.  They  made  acquaintance 
with  Carlyle,  and  there  was  immediate  and  agreeable  recognition  of 
one  another's  qualities,  both  on  his  side  and  theirs.  Mrs.  Buller  was 
clever  and  cultivated.*  In  her  creed  she  was  Manichaean.  In  her 

1  Past  pupils,  of  whom  I  find  no  other  notice. 

8  Mrs.  Buller  had  been  a  celebrated  beauty  in  her  youth.  Among  Carlyle's  papers  I 
find  the  following  beautiful  lines  by  John  Leyden,  which  have  never.  I  believe,  before 
been  printed: 

VERSES  TO  MRS.  BULLER  OX   PEEIXO  HER    IX  A  HIGHLAND   DRESS, 
BY  DOCTOR  JOHN  LEYDEN. 

(From  a  copy  in  Mrs.  Buller'' $  handwriting,  January,  1824.) 

That  bonnet's  pride,  that  tartan's  flow, 

My  soul  with  wild  emotion  fills; 
Methinks  I  see  in  Fancy's  glow 

A  princess  from  the  land  of  hills. 
Oh  for  a  fairy's  hand  to  trace 

Tbe  rainbow  tints  that  rise  to  view, 
That  slender  form  of  sweeter  grace 

Than  e'er  Malvina's  poet  drew ! 

Her  brilliant  eye,  her  streaming  hair. 

Her  skin's  soft  splendors  do  display; 
The  finest  pencil  must  despair 

Till  it  can  paint  the  solar  ray. 
Calcutta,  1811. 


96  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CAKLYLE. 

youth  she  had  been  a  beauty,  and  was  still  handsome,  and  was  in 
London  the  centre  of  an  admiring  circle  of  intellectual  politicians 
and  unbelieving  Radicals.  She  was  first  amused,  then  charmed,  and 
really  interested  in  a  person  so  distinctly  original  and  remarkable  as 
her  son's  tutor.  Her  husband,  though  of  different  quality,  liked 
him  equally  well.  Mr.  Buller  was  practical  and  hard-headed;  a 
Benthamite  in  theory,  in  theology  negative  and  contemptuous.  He 
had  not  much  sympathy  with  literature,  but  he  had  a  keen  under- 
standing ;  he  could  see  faculty,  and  appreciate  it  whenever  it  was 
genuine,  and  he  forgave  Carlyle's  imagination  for  the  keenness  of 
his  sarcasms.  Thus  it  was  not  only  settled  that  he  was  to  continue 
to  be  the  tutor,  but  he  was  admitted  into  the  family  as  a  friend,  and 
his  presence  was  expected  in  the  drawing-room  in  the  evenings  more 
often  than  he  liked.  The  style  of  society  was  new  to  him,  and  he 
could  not  feel  himself  at  ease.  The  habits  of  life  were  expensive, 
and  the  luxuries  were  not  to  his  taste. 

"  Tea  [he  wrote]  I  now  consume  with  urns  and  china  and  splen- 
did apparatus  all  around  me,  yet  I  often  turn  from  these  grandeurs 
to  the  little  '  down  the  house '  at  Mainhill,  where  kind  affection 
makes  amends  for  all  deficiencies.  Often,  often,  my  dear  mother, 
in  coming  years,  we  shall  yet  drink  tea  there,  enjoy  our  pipes  and 
friendly  chat  together,  and  pity  all  the  empty  gorgeousness  of  the 
earth." 

On  the  other  hand,  he  found  Mrs.  Buller,  naturally  enough,  "one 
of  the  most  fascinating,  refined  women  he  had  ever  seen."  The 
"goodman"  he  did  not  take  to  quite  so  readily,  but  he  thought  him 
at  least  "an  honest,  worthy,  straightforward  English  gentleman." 
His  comfort  was  considered  in  every  way.  They  would  have  liked 
to  have  him  reside  in  their  house,  but  he  wished  to  keep  his  lodgings 
in  Moray  Street,  and  no  difficulty  was  made.  Even  his  humors, 
which  were  not  always  under  restraint,  were  endured  without  re- 
sentment. 

"  The  people  treat  me  [lie  wrote  to  his  brother  John  in  September] 
with  a  degree  of  respect  which  I  do  not  deserve.  They  have  sub- 
mitted implicitly  to  all  my  ideas  about  a  lodging-place.  They  have 
delivered  me,  without  even  a  hint  on  my  part,  from  the  drudgery  of 
teaching  their  youngest  boy,1  and  our  arrangements  for  the  other 
two  have  been  formed  with  a  view  to  my  convenience  as  much  as  to 
that  of  any  other.  The  boys,  too,  behave  well;  and  though  I  clearly 
perceive  that  the  management  of  my  duties  will  require  the  whole 
of  my  slender  stock  of  prudence  and  discretion,  yet  this  stock,  I  ex- 
pect, will  suffice  to  carry  me  through  without  discredit. " 

Again,  a  little  later : 

"I  am  well,  and  comfortable  as  I  could  wish.     Buller's  house  is 

1  Reginald,  then  ten  years  old. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  97 

becoming  more  and  more  a  kind  of  home  to  me.  The  elders  treat 
me  almost  like  a  son  in  many  respects,  the  younger  members  al- 
most like  a  brother.  Our  studies  are  going  on  moderately  well. 
There  is  nothing  but  good  agreement  as  yet,  and  I  think  the  thing 
will  do." 

Not  the  least  of  the  advantages  of  this  tutorship  was  the  power 
which  it  gave  Carlyle  of  being  useful  to  his  family.  John  Carlyle 
came  in  the  autumn  to  live  with  him  in  Moray  Street  and  attend  the 
University  lectures,  Carlyle  taking  upon  himself  the  expenses.  With 
himself,  too,  all  was  going  well.  He  had  paid  a  hasty  visit  to  Main- 
hill  in  October ;  where,  perhaps,  as  was  likely  enough,  in  some  of  their 
midnight  smokes  together,  he  had  revived  the  anxieties  of  his  mother 
about  his  spiritual  state.  His  constant  effort  was  to  throw  his  own 
thoughts  into  her  language,  and  prevent  her  from  distressing  herself 
about  him. 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  MainMll. 

"Edinburgh:  November  14. 1822. 

' '  You  have  not  sent  me  a  line  since  I  went  away.  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  this,  knowing  how  you  are  circumstanced,  but  it  keeps  me 
very  much  in  the  dark  with  regard  to  your  situation.  I  can  only 
hope  you  are  in  your  usual  state  of  health  and  spirits,  fighting  as 
formerly  against  the  inconveniences  of  your  present  life,  and  bright- 
ening all  its  dreariness  by  the  hopes  01  a  better.  There  is  nothing 
else  that  can  keep  the  happiest  of  us  in  a  state  of  peace,  worth  call- 
ing by  the  name  of  peace ;  and  '  with  this  anchor  of  the  soul  both 
sure  and  steadfast '  the  unhappiest  man  alive  is  to  be  envied.  You 
think  I  am  a  very  thoughtless  character,  careless  of  eternity,  and 
taken  up  with  the  vain  concerns  of  time  alone.  Depend  upon  it,  my 
dear  mother,  you  misjudge  me.  These  thoughts  are  rooted  in  every 
reflecting  mind,  in  mine  perhaps  more  deeply  than  in  many  that 
make  more  noise  about  them ;  and  of  all  the  qualities  that  I  love  in 
you,  there  is  none  I  so  much  love  as  that  heroic  feeling  of  devotion 
which  elevates  you  so  much  above  the  meanness  of  ordinary  persons 
in  your  situation,  which  gives  to  the  humble  circumstances  of  your 
lot  a  dignity  unborrowed  of  earthly  grandeur  as  well  as  far  superior 
to  the  highest  state  of  it ;  and  which  ornaments  a  mind  untrained  in 
worldly  education  and  accomplishments  with  sentiments  after  which 
mere  literature  and  philosophy  with  all  their  pretensions  would  for- 
ever strive  in  vain.  The  dress  of  our  opinions,  as  I  have  often  told 
you,  may  be  different,  because  our  modes  of  life  have  been  different, 
but  fundamentally  our  sentiments  are  completely  the  same.  We 
should  tolerate  each  other,  therefore,  in  this  world,  where  all  is  weak 
and  obscure,  trusting  meanwhile  that  we  shall  comprehend  all  things 
more  perfectly  in  that  clearer  land  where  faith  is  changed  into  vi- 
sion ;  where  the  dim  though  fervent  longings  of  our  minds  from  this 
their  dark  prison  -  house  are  changed  for  a  richness  of  actual  gran- 
deur beyond  what  the  most  ardent  imagination  has  ventured  to  con- 
ceive. Long  may  these  hopes  be  yours,  my  dearest  mother.  Who- 
ever entertains  them  is  richer  than  kings. 


98  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"The  young  Bullers  are  gone  to  college1  a  few  days  ago,  and  I 
do  not  go  near  them  till  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  By  this  means 
I  not  only  secure  a  competent  space  of  time  for  my  own  studies,  but 
find  also  that  my  stomach  troubles  me  a  good  deal  less  after  break- 
fast than  it  used  to  do  when  I  had  a  long  hurried  walk  to  take 
before  it. 

"My  duties  are  of  an  easy  and  brief  sort.  I  dine  at  half -past 
three  with  a  small  and  very  civil  youth,  little  Reginald,  contracted 
into  Reggy,  and  I  have  generally  done  with  the  whole  against  six. 
I  find  Jack  immersed  in  study  when  I  return.  He  cooks  the  tea 
for  us,  and  we  afterwards  devote  ourselves  to  business  till  between 
eleven  and  twelve.  My  brotherly  love  to  all  the  younkers  about 
home,  to  each  by  name.  Why  do  they  never  write  ?  Will  you 
not  write?  I  am,  ever  affectionately  your  son — thy  son  ! ! 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

Once  more,  before  the  year  closed : 

To  the  Same. 

"December  4. 

"It  is  already  past  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  am  tired  and  sleepy,  but 
I  cannot  go  to  rest  without  answering  the  kind  little  note  which  you 
sent  me,  and  acknowledging  these  new  instances  of  your  unwearied 
attention  to  my  interests  and  comfort.  I  am  almost  vexed  at  these 
shirts  and  stockings.  My  dear  mother,  why  will  you  expend  on 
superfluities  the  pittance  I  intended  for  very  different  ends  ?  I  again 
assure  you,  and  would  swear  it  if  needful,  that  you  cannot  get  me 
such  enjoyment  with  it  in  any  way  as  by  convincing  me  that  it  is 
adding  to  your  own.  Do  not  therefore  frustrate  my  purposes.  I 
send  you  a  small  screed  of  verses  which  I  made  some  time  ago.  I 
fear  you  will  not  care  a  doit  for  them,  though  the  subject  is  good — 
the  deliverance  of  Switzerland  from  tyranny  by  the  hardy  moun- 
taineers at  the  battle  of  Morgarten  above  five  hundred  years  ago. 

"This  is  my  birthday.  I  am  now  ssven-and-twenty  years  of  age. 
What  an  unprofitable  lout  I  am!  What  have  I  done  in  this  world 
to  make  good  my  place  in  it,  or  reward  those  that  had  the  trouble 
of  my  upbringing  ?  Great  part  of  an  ordinary  lifetime  is  gone  by, 
and  here  am  I,  poor  trifler,  still  sojourning  in  Meshech,  still  doing 
nothing  in  the  tents  of  Kedar.  May  the  great  Father  of  all  give  me 
strength  to  do  better  in  time  remaining,  to  be  of  service  in  the  good 
cause  in  my  day  and  generation;  and,  having  finished  the  work 
which  was  given  me  to  do,  to  lie  down  and  sleep  in  peace  and  pu- 
rity in  the  hope  of  a  happy  rising." 

The  "  screed  of  verses  "  was  not  thought  worthy  of  a  place  among 
the  few  fragments  of  his  poetry  which  Carlyle  afterwards  published, 
though  they  are  as  good  as  any  of  the  rest.  Long  and  patiently  he 
had  toiled  at  verse-making.  Infinite  loose  sheets  of  paper  remain 
covered  with  the  memorials  of  his  efforts.  It  was  the  received  opin- 
ion that  in  verse  alone  fine  emotion  and  spiritual  thought  could  be 

•  The  University  Term  having  begun. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  99 

clothed  in  adequate  form.  The  poets,  so  far  as  Carlyle  could  see, 
had  been  the  wisest  men.  Inspiration  meant  poetry,  and  poetry 
inspiration,  and  if  he  had  any  genius  in  him  worth  considering,  he 
thought  it  his  duty  to  master  the  mechanical  difficulties  of  the  art. 
He  never  entirely  succeeded.  Rhyme  and  metre  were  to  Carlyle 
like  Saul's  armor  to  David,  and  the  intended  vase  turned  out  usually 
no  better  than  an  earthen  pitcher.  The  "screed"  is  good  as  an  echo 
of  Campbell  or  Byron,  or  of  both  combined,  but  there  is  no  trace  in 
it  of  original  native  power : 

"Proud  Hapsburgh  came  forth  in  the  gloom  of  his  wrath, 

With  his  banners  of  pomp  and  his  Hitters  in  mail, 
For  the  herdsmen  of  Uri  have  fronted  his  path, 
And  the  standard  of  freedom  is  raised  in  the  vale. 

"All  scornful  advancing,  he  thought  as  he  came 

How  the  peasants  would  shrink  at  the  glance  of  his  eye; 
How  their  heath-covered  chalets  in  ruin  must  flame, 
And  the  hope  of  the  nation  must  wither  and  die. 

"But  marked  he  the  moment  when  thundering  and  vast 

The  voice  of  the  Switzers  in  echoes  arose, 
When  the  rocks  of  the  glen  from  the  hill  summits  cast, 
Carried  vengeance  and  death  on  the  heads  of  their  foes. 

"  Xow  charge  in  your  fury,  ye  sons  of  the  Fell, 

Now  plunge  ye  your  blades  in  the  hearts  of  his  men; 
If  ye  conquer,  all  time  of  your  glory  shall  tell. 
And  conquered  ye  ne'er  shall  arouse  ye  again. 

"  'Tis  done,  and  the  spoilers  are  crushed  and  o'crthrown, 
And  terror  has  struck  through  the  souls  of  the  proud, 
For  the  Despot  of  Austria  stoops  from  his  throne, 
And  the  war-cry  of  Uri  is  wrathful  and  loud. 

"  In  speed  they  came  on,  but  still  faster  they  go, 

While  ruin  and  horror  around  them  are  hurled, 

And  the  fleld  of  JJorgarten  in  splendor  shall  grow, 

Like  Marathon's  lie  Id,  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

Once  only  Carlyle  did  better  than  this,  when  love  came  to  assist 
his  inspiration.  Miss  Welsh's  injunctions,  though  they  subdued  the 
tone  of  his  letters,  could  not  prevent  a  confidential  intercourse  with 
a  young,  fascinating  woman  from  producing  its  natural  effect.  Per- 
haps, after  Irving  was  lost  to  her,  though  she  gave  Carlyle  no  en- 
couragement, she  was  less  peremptorily  cold.  He  on  his  part  re- 
garded her  as  the  most  perfect  of  women,  beyond  his  practical 
hopes,  but  not  beyond  his  adoration,  and  he  indulged  in  the  usual 
flights  of  musical  imagining: 

"They  chide  thee,  fair  and  fervid  one, 

At  Glory's  goal  for  aiming: 
Does  not  Jove's  bird,  its  flight  begun, 
Soar  up  against  the  beaming  sun, 
Undazed  in  splendor  flaming? 

"Young  brilliant  creature,  even  so 

A  lofty  instinct  draws  thee, 
Heaven's  fires  within  thy  bosom  glow, 
Could  earth's  vain  fading  vulgar  show 

One  hour's  contentment  cause  thee  ? 


100  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"The  gay  saloon  'twas  thine  to  tread, 

Itn  stateliest  scenes  adorning, 
Thine  bo,  by  nobler  wishes  led, 
With  bays  to  crown  thy  lofty  head, 

All  meaner  homuge  scorning. 

"Bright  maid,  thy  destiny  as  I  view, 

Unuttered  thoughts  come  o'er  me; 
Enrolled  among  earth's  chosen  few, 
Lovely  as  morning,  pure  as  dew, 

Thy  image  stands  before  me. 

"  Oh,  that  on  Fame's  far  shining  peak, 
With  great  and  mighty  numbered, 
Unfading  laurels  I  could  seek; 
This  longing  spirit  then  might  speak 
The  thoughts  within  that  slumbered. 

"Oh,  in  the  battle's  wildest  swell, 

By  hero's  deeds  to  win  thee, 
To  meet  the  charge,  the  stormy  yell, 
The  artillery's  flash,  its  thundering  knell, 

And  thine  the  light  within  me. 

"What  man  in  Fate's  dark  day  of  power, 

While  thoughts  of  thee  upbore  him, 
Would  shrink  at  danger's  blackest  lour, 
Or  faint  in  Life's  last  ebbing  hour, 

If  tears  of  thine  fell  o'er  him?" 

These  lines  are  noteworthy  for  the  emotion  which  they  express", 
but  they  have  not  the  ring  of  genuine  gold.  The  feeling  did  not 
seek  the  metre  because  it  could  not  otherwise  find  fit  expression. 
The  metre  was  rather  laboriously  adapted  to  the  feeling,  because 
the  metrical  form  was  assumed  to  be  the  right  and  appropriate  one. 
Had  Carlyle  struggled  on  upon  the  false  track,  he  might  have  writ- 
ten good  artificial  verses,  showing  from  time  to  time  a  mind  impa- 
tient of  its  fetters,  but  he  would  scarcely  liave  risen  to  true  great- 
ness. Happily  he  was  himself  under  no  illusions.  His  object  was 
to  write  out  the  truth  that  was  in  him:  he  saw  his  mistake,  and  he 
left  his  ideas  to  take  the  shape  that  was  most  natural  to  him.  Tay- 
lor's offer  for  the  London  Magazine  came  to  the  help  of  his  resolu- 
tion, and  he  began  his  "Life  of  Schiller"  as  the  commencement  of 
the  intended  series.  Goethe  was  designed  to  follow.  But  the  biog- 
raphy of  Goethe  was  soon  exchanged  for  a  translation  of  "  Wilhelm 
Meister." 

Thus  opened  the  year  1823.  The  Buller  connection  continued  to 
be  agreeable.  John  Carlyle's  companionship  relieved  the  loneliness 
of  the  Edinburgh  lodgings,  while  spare  moments  were  occupied  with 
writing  letters  to  Miss  Welsh  or  correcting  his  exercises. 

"We  lead  a  quiet  life  at  present  [he  wrote  to  his  brother  Alexan- 
der]. No  incident  breaks  the  smooth  current  of  our  history.  None 
meddles  with  us,  we  meddle  with  none.  Jack  is  studying  bones, 
and  the  like.  I  write  nonsense  all  the  morning,  then  go  and  teach 
from  two  till  six,  then  come  home  and  read  till  half-past  eleven, 
and  so  the  day  is  done.  I  am  happy  while  I  can  keep  myself  busy, 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  101 

which,  alas  !  is  not  by  any  means  always.  The  other  day  I  went 
with  Murray  to  call  upon  Macculloch,  the  Scotsman.  He  was  sitting 
like  a  great  Polar  bear,  chewing,  and  vainly  trying  to  digest,  the 
doctrines  of  Adam  Smith  and  Ricardo,  which  he  means  to  vomit 
forth  again  next  spring  in  the  shape  of  lectures  to  'the  thinking 
public '  of  this  city.  He  eyed  me  with  suspicion  and  distrust ; 
would  not  come  forth  into  open  parley  at  all.  What  ailed  the  great 
Macculloch  I  could  not  tell.  Did  he  ever  feel  fear  ?  or  might  I  be 
come  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of  his  land  ?  I  would  not  give  a  rush 
to  know." 

Communications  more  interesting  than  political  economy  came  in 
weekly  by  the  carrier  from  Mainhili.  His  father  wrote  to  him  on 
the  1st  of  January : 

James  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"MainhiH:  January  I,  1823. 

"I  take  the  pen  in  hand  once  more  to  write  to  you,  though  you 
may  look  for  nothing  but  a  few  ill-arranged  thoughts.  But  how- 
ever that  may  be,  I  can  tell  you  that  I  am  in  as  good  health  as  any  of 
my  age  can  expect  to  enjoy.  In  spite  of  bad  times  we  are  fighting 
away,  and  by  feeding  cattle,  selling  our  barley,  and  one  thing  and 
another,  we  think  we  can  meet  our  landlord  at  Candlemas  this  year 
as  formerly;  and  when  we  can  do  that,  you  know  we  may  go  on  so 
long  as  we  are  in  any  measure  of  health.  How  long  that  may  be  we 
cannot  say.  He  who  knows  all  things  only  knows  what  is  before 
us;  but  we  may  know,  both  by  Scripture  and  by  our  own  observa- 
tion, that  before  long  we  must  leave  the  place  we  now  occupy  for 
a  place  in  eternity,  and  only  one  of  two  places  can  we  look  for,  as 
there  is  not  a  third ;  and  the  Apostle  tells  us  that,  as  we  spend  our 
time  here,  so  will  our  eternal  state  be.  May  the  Lord  make  us  all 
wise  to  consider  these  things,  and  to  think  on  our  latter  end. 

"  I  forgot,  the  last  time  I  wrote,  to  tell  you  that  I  had  got  the  book 
of  sermons  safe  which  you  sent  me,  and  I  like  them  very  well.  When 
1  was  reading  Balmer's  sermon  on  the  Resurrection,  it  brought  into 
my  mind  a  sennon  preached  by  Mr.  William  Glen  nearly  on  the 
same  subject.  He  said  many  things  about  the  eternity  of  the  body 
that  would  rise  at  the  Day  of  Judgment,  and  the  subject  was  dis- 
puted about  by  Robert  Scott  and  George  Maclvin.  Robert  Scott 
was  for  the  same  body  rising  again.  The  arguments  were  talked 
over  one  morning  at  the  meeting-house  door.  I  was  present,  and 
was  rather  involved  in  the  dispute.  I  observed  that  I  thought  a 
stinking  clogg  of  a  body  like  Robert  Scott  the  weaver's  would  be 
very  unfit  to  inhabit  those  places. 

"  Your  mother  wishes  you  a  happy  new  year,  and  she  wishes  it 
may  be  the  best  you  over  have  seen,  and  the  worst  you  ever  may 
see.  I  am,  dear  son,  your  loving  father, 

"JAMES  CARLYLE." 

The  family,  young  and  old,  often  contributed  their  scraps  to  the 
carrier's  budget  on  these  occasions.  The  youngest  child  of  all,  Jane, 


102  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

called  the  Craw,  or  Crow,  from  her  black  hair,  and  not  yet  able  even 
to  write,  was  heard  composing  in  bed  in  the  morning,  to  be  enclosed 
in  her  father's  letter,  "a  scrap  of  doggerel  from  his  affectionate  sis- 
ter Jane  Carlyle." 

Of  Carlyle's  brothers,  Alexander  had  the  most  natural  genius.  Of 
his  sisters,  the  eldest,  Margaret,  had  a  tenderness,  grace,  and  dignity 
of  character  which,  if  health  and  circumstances  had  been  more  kind, 
would  have  made  her  into  a  distinguished  woman.  But  Jane  was 
peculiar  and  original.  She,  when  the  day's  work  was  over,  and  the 
young  men  wandered  out  in  the  summer  gloaming,  would  cling  to 
"Tom's"  hand  and  trot  at  his  side,  catching  the  jewelled  sentences 
which  dropped  from  his  lips.  She  now,  when  he  was  far  away,  sent, 
among  the  rest,  her  little  thoughts  to  him,  composing  the  "meanest 
of  the  letter  kind  "  instinctively  in  rhyme  and  metre;  her  sister  Mary, 
who  had  better  luck  in  having  been  at  school,  writing  down  the 
words  for  her. 

"  Surely  a  very  singular  little  crow,"  was  Carlyle's  observation  on 
reading  her  characteristic  lines.  "Meanest  of  the  letter  kind"  be- 
came a  family  phrase,  to  be  met  with  for  many  years  when  an  indif- 
ferent composition  seemed  to  require  an  apology.  Carlyle,  in  return, 
thought  always  first  of  his  mother.  He  must  send  her  a  present. 
She  must  tell  him  what  she  needed  most.  "  Dear  bairn,"  she  might 
answer,  "I  want  for  nothing."  But  it  was  not  allowed  to  serve. 
"  She  must  understand  that  she  could  not  gratify  him  so  much  as 
by  enabling  him  to  promote  her  comfort." 

"Life  [he  wrote  to  her]  is  still  in  prospect  to  Jack  and  me. 
We  are  not  yet  what  we  hope  to  be.  Jack  is  going  to  become  a  large 
gawsie  broad-faced  practiser  of  physic,  to  ride  his  horse  in  time,  to 
give  aloes  by  the  rule,  to  make  money  and  be  a  large  man ;  while  I, 
in  spite  of  all  my  dyspepsias  and  nervousness  and  hypochondrias, 
am  still  bent  on  being  a  very  meritorious  sort  of  character,  rather 
noted  in  the  world  of  letters,  if  it  so  please  Providence,  and  useful, 
I  hope,  whithersoever  I  go,  in  the  good  old  cause,  for  which  I  beg  you 
to  believe  that  I  cordially  agree  with  you  in  feeling  my  chief  interest, 
however  we  may  differ  in  our  modes  of  expressing  it." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A.D.  1823.     ^ET.  28. 

THE  Bullers  after  a  winter's  experience  grew  tired  of  Edinburgh, 
and  in  the  spring  of  1823  took  Kinnaird  House,  a  large,  handsome 
residence  in  Perthshire.  Carlyle  during  the  removal  was  allowed  a 
holiday.  He  had  been  complaining  of  his  health  again.  He  had 
been  working  hard  on  Schiller,  and  was  beginning  his  translation  of 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  103 

' '  Mcister. "  His  brother  had  gone  home  when  the  University  session 
was  over,  and  describes  the  anxiety  of  the  family  with  a  degree  of 
humor  unusual  with  him : 

John  Carlyle  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  May  5, 1823. 

"I  found  all  the  Mainhill  people  well  in  body  and  mind,  all  very 
cheerful,  and  all  disposed  to  give  me  a  hearty  welcome  and  receive 
me  in  their  '  choicest  mood.'1  They  all  inquired  after  you.  Question 
followed  question  anxiously.  '  Thou'se  a  vast  deal  leaner,  lad,  sin' 
thou  gaed  away!'  '  Is  Tom  got  better?  Does  he  sleep  well  yet?  It 
gaed  to  my  heart  when  he  told  me  in  the  last  letter  that  he  couldna 
sleep  without  his  finger  in  his  ear.  Poor  fellow,  he  has  had  a  terrible 
time  o't.  I  see  by  thee  thou'se  no  telling  me  the  worst' — before  I 
could  get  a  word  said.  She  thanks  you  for  the  large  quantity  of  tea 
you  sent  her.  It  was  the  best  she  had  had  for  a  long  while.  Our 
father  is  cheerful  and  vigorous,  and  in  the  very  best  health.  He  has 
got  every  ounce  weight  of  his  corn  sown,  his  potatoes  set  and  covered, 
and  has  wherewith  to  meet  his  landlord  with  an  'impudent  face.' 
I  gave  him  Paley's  '  Hora3  Paulina?,'  with  which  he  was  considerably 
pleased.  He  told  me  he  had  often  heard  of  it,  but  never  could  get 
it.  He  read  a  little  of  it  yesterday,  and  was  much  pleased.  Jane's 
muse  has  not  visited  her  frequently  of  late.  The  '  letter  poetic ' 
which  she  sent  you  was  entirely  her  own  production.  She  made  it 
in  her  bed  one  night  exactly  in  the  form  in  which  you  got  it." 

Kinnaird  House  is  a  beautiful  place  in  the  midst  of  woods  near 
Dunkeld  on  the  Tay.  Carlyle  spent  a  week  in  Annandale,  and  re- 
joined the  Bullers  there  at  the  end  of  May. 

"  I  spent  a  joyful  week  in  Annandale  [he  reported  to  Miss  Welsh] 
amidst  scenes  in  themselves  unattractive  or  repulsive,  but  hallowed 
in  my  thoughts  by  the  rude  but  genuine  worth  and  true  affection 
of  those  who  people  them.  I  think  I  am  going  to  be  comfortable 
enough  in  my  new  quarters.  The  Bullers  are  good  people;  and, 
what  is  better,  the  first  hour  when  they  treat  me  uncivilly  shall  like- 
wise be  the  last.  So  we  live  together  in  that  easy  style  of  cheerful 
indifference  which  seems  to  be  the  fit  relation  between  us.  For  the 
rest,  I  have  balmy  air  to  breathe,  fine  scenery  to  look  at,  and  stillness 
deeper  than  I  have  ever  before  enjoyed.  My  apartments  are  in  a 
house  detached  from  the  larger  bui4ding,  which,  except  at  meals  and 
times  of  business,  I  intend  to  frequent  but  seldom.  My  window 
opens  into  a  smooth  bowling  green,  surrounded  with  goodly  trees, 
and  the  thrushes  have  been  singing  amongst  them,  though  it  has 
rained  every  moment  since  I  came.  Here  I  purpose  to  spend  my 
leisure  and  to  think  sweetly  of  friends  that  are  far  away." 

Of  these  friends,  Miss  "Welsh  was  naturally  the  most  frequently  in 
his  mind.  Her  relations  with  him  were  drifting  gradually  in  the 
direction  in  which  friendships  between  young  men  and  young  wom- 

1  A  phrase  of  Edward  Irvine's. 


104  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

en  usually  do  drift.  She  had  no  thought  of  marrying  him,  but  she 
was  flattered  by  his  attachment.  It  amused  her  to  see  the  most  re- 
markable person  that  she  had  ever  met  with  at  her  feet.  His  birth 
and  position  seemed  to  secure  her  against  the  possibility  of  any 
closer  connection  between  them.  Thus  he  had  a  trying  time  of  it. 
In  serious  moments  she  would  tell  him  that  their  meeting  had  made 
an  epoch  in  her  history,  and  had  influenced  her  character  and  life. 
When  the  humor  changed,  she  would  ridicule  his  Annandale  accent, 
turned  his  passionate  expressions  to  scorn,  and  when  she  had  toned 
him  down  again  she  would  smile  once  more,  and  enchant  him  back 
into  illusions.  She  played  with  him,  frightened  him  away,  drew 
him  back,  quarrelled  with  him,  received  him  again  into  favor  as  the 
fancy  took  her,  till  at  last  the  poor  man  said,  ' '  My  private  idea  is 
that  you  are  a  witch  like  Sapphira  in  the  New  Testament,  concern- 
ing whom  Dr.  Nimmo  once  preached  in  my  hearing  :  '  It  seems 
probable,  my  friends,  that  Ananias  was  tempted  into  this  by  some 
spirit  more  wicked  than  his  wife.' "  At  last,  in  the  summer  of  1823, 
just  after  he  was  settled  at  Kinnaird,  she  was  staying  in  some  house 
which  she  particularly  disliked,  and  on  this  occasion,  in  a  fit  of  im- 
patience with  her  surroundings — for  she  dated  a  letter  which  she 
wrote  to  him  thence,  very  characteristically,  as  from  "  Hell " — she  ex- 
pressed a  gratitude  for  Carlyle's  affection  for  her,  more  warm  than 
she  had  ever  expressed  before.  He  believed  her  serious,  and  sup- 
posed that  she  had  promised  to  be  his  wife.  She  hastened  to  tell 
him,  as  explicitly  as  she  could,  that  he  had  entirely  mistaken  her. 

"My  friend  [she  said],  I  love  you.  I  repeat  it,  though  I  find  the 
expression  a  rash  one.  All  the  best  feelings  of  my  nature  are  con- 
cerned in  loving  you.  But  were  you  my  brother  I  should  love  you 
the  same.  No.  Your  friend  I  will  be,  your  truest,  most  devoted 
friend,  while  I  breathe  the  breath  of  life.  But  your  wife,  never. 
Never,  not  though  you  were  as  rich  as  Croesus,  as  honored  and  re- 
nowned as  you  yet  shall  be." 

Carlyle  took  his  rebuke  manfully.  "My  heart,"  he  said,  "is  too 
old  by  almost  half  a  score  of  years,  and  is  made  of  sterner  stuff  than 
to  break  in  junctures  of  this  kind.  I  have  no  idea  of  dying  in  the 
Arcadian  shepherd's  style  for  the  disappointment  of  hopes  which 
I  never  seriously  entertained,  or  had  no  right  to  entertain  seriously." 
Could  they  have  left  matters  thus,  it  had  been  better  for  both  of  them. 
Two  diamonds  do  not  easily  form  cup  and  socket.  But  Irving  was 
gone.  Miss  Welsh  was  romantic ;  and  to  assist  and  further  the  ad- 
vance of  a  man  of  extraordinary  genius,  who  was  kept  back  from 
rising  by  outward  circumstances,  was  not  without  attraction  to  her. 
Among  her  papers  there  is  a  curious  correspondence  which  passed 
about  this  time  between  herself  and  the  family  solicitor.  Her  moth- 
er had  been  left  entirely  dependent  on  her.  Her  marriage,  she  said, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  105 

was  possible,  though  not  probable;  and  "  she  did  not  choose  that  her 
husband,  if  he  was  ever  to  be  so  disposed,  should  have  it  in  his  pow- 
er to  lessen  her  mother's  income."  She  executed  an  instrument, 
therefore,  by  which  she  transferred  the  whole  of  her  property  to  her 
mother  during  Mrs.  Welsh's  life.  By  another  she  left  it  to  Carlyle 
after  her  own  and  her  mother's  death.  It  was  a  generous  act,  which 
showed  how  far  she  had  seen  into  his  character  and  the  future  which 
lay  before  him,  if  he  could  have  leisure  to  do  justice  to  his  talents. 
But  it  would  have  been  happier  for  her  and  for  him  if  she  could 
have  seen  a  little  farther,  and  had  persevered  in  her  refusal  to  add 
her  person  to  her  fortune. 

Men  of  genius  are  "kittle  folk,"  as  the  Scotch  say.  Carlyle  had 
a  strange  temper,  and  from  a  child  was  ' '  gey  ill  to  live  with. "  When 
dyspepsia  was  upon  him  he  spared  no  one,  least  of  all  those  who 
were  nearest  and  dearest  to  him.  Dearly  as  he  loved  his  brother 
John,  yet  he  had  spoken  to  him  while  they  were  lodging  together  in 
language  which  he  was  ashamed  to  remember.  "Often  in  winter," 
he  acknowledged  ruefully  to  the  poor  John,  "when  Satanas  in  the 
shape  of  bile  was  heavy  upon  me,  I  have  said  cruel  things  to  thee, 
and  bitterly,  though  vainly,  do  I  recollect  them;  but  at  bottom  I  hope 
you  never  doubted  that  I  loved  you."  Penitence,  however,  sincere 
as  it  might  be,  was  never  followed  by  amendment,  even  to  the  very 
end  of  his  life. 

But  enough  will  be  heard  hereafter  on  this  sad  subject.  The  life 
at  Kinnaird  went  on  smoothly.  The  translation  of  ' '  Meister  "  pros- 
pered. An  Edinburgh  publisher  undertook  to  publish  it  and  pay 
well  for  it.  There  is  a  letter  from  Carlyle  to  his  mother,  dated 
June  10  of  this  year.  Half  a  page  is  cut  off,  and  contained  evi- 
dently a  check  for  a  small  sum  of  money : 

Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  MainliiU. 

•'Kinnaird  House:  June  10, 1823. 

"  This  letter  may  operate  as  a  spur  on  the  diligence  of  my  beloved 
and  valuable  correspondents  at  Mainhill.  There  is  a  small  blank 
made  in  the  sheet  for  a  purpose  which  you  will  notice.  I  beg  you 
to  accept  the  little  picture  which  fills  it  without  any  murmuring. 
It  is  a  poor  testimonial  of  the  grateful  love  I  should  ever  bear  you. 
If  I  hope  to  get  a  moderate  command  of  money  in  the  course  of  my 
life's  operations,  I  long  for  it  chiefly  that  I  may  testify  to  those  deur 
to  me  what  affection  I  entertain  for  them.  In  the  mean  time  we 
ought  to  be  thankful  that  we  have  never  known  -what  it  was  to  be 
in  fear  of  want,  but  have  always  had  wherewith  to  gratify  one  an- 
other by  these  little  acts  of  kindness,  which  are  worth  more  than 
millions  unblest  by  a  true  feeling  between  the  giver  and  receiver. 
You  must  buy  yourself  any  little  odd  things  you  want,  and  think  I 
enjoy  it  along  with  you,  if  it  add  to  your  comfort.  I  do  indeed  en- 
joy it  with  you.  I  should  be  a  dog  if  I  did  not.  I  am  grateful  to 


106  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

you  for  kindness  and  true  affection  such  as  no  other  heart  will  ever 
feel  for  me.  I  am  proud  of  my  mother,  though  she  is  neither  rich 
nor  learned.  If  I  ever  forget  to  love  and  reverence  her,  I  must  cease 
to  be  a  creature  myself  worth  remembering.  Often,  my  dear  moth- 
er, in  solitary,  pensive  moments  does  it  come  across  me  like  the  cold 
shadow  of  death  that  we  two  must  part  in  the  course  of  time.  I 
shudder  at  the  thought,  and  find  no  refuge  except  in  humbly  trust- 
ing that  the  great  God  will  surely  appoint  us  a  meeting  in  that  far 
country  to  which  we  are  tending.  May  he  bless  you  forever,  my 
good  mother,  and  keep  up  in  your  heart  those  sublime  hopes  which 
at  present  serve  as  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  fire  by 
night  to  guide  your  footsteps  through  the  wilderness  of  life.  We 
are  in  his  hands.  He  will  not  utterly  forsake  us.  Let  us  trust  in 
him. 

"I  have  no  news  of  myself  to  send  you  except  what  are  good. 
The  boys  are  going  on  very  fairly  with  me.  They  are  excellent 
creatures  in  the  main.  With  the  rest  of  the  family  I  am  on  the  best 
footing.  We  talk  together  cheerfully  whenever  we  meet.  They 
show  themselves  anxious  to  promote  my  comfort  by  every  rational 
arrangement.  When  with  them  I  forget  that  there  is  any  difference 
in  worldly  rank.  They  have  their  wealth,  and  birth,  and  connec- 
tions, and  accomplishments  to  brag  of.  I  too  have  my  little  stock 
of  vanities  within  myself.  My  health  was  scarcely  so  good  as  you 
saw  it  for  some  days  after  I  arrived.  The  air  is  pure  as  may  be, 
and  I  am  quiet  as  when  at  home ;  but  I  did  not  sleep  well  for  some 
nights,  and  began  to  fear  that  I  was  again  going  downhill.  On  con- 
sidering what  the  matter  might  be,  it  struck  me  it  was,  perhaps,  my 
dining  so  late — at  five  o'clock — and  fasting  so  long  before  dinner. 
A  new  regulation  took  place  instantly;  and  now,  except  on  Sabbath- 
days,  when  from  choice  I  eat  with  the  family,  my  meals  are  served 
up  in  a  very  comfortable  manner  at  the  hours  I  myself  selected. 
The  boys  and  I  are  up  at  breakfast  a  little  before  niue.  We  begin 
work  half  an  hour  after  it,  continuing  till  one.  Then  I  go  out  and 
walk,  or  smoke,  or  amuse  myself  till  half -past  two,  when  dinner  is 
waiting  for  me  in  the  parlor,  after  which  teaching  recommences  till 
near  five,  and  then  I  am  free  as  air  for  the  night.  I  go  into  my  own 
room,  and  do  whatsoever  seemeth  me  good.  I  go  out  of  it  and  walk 
and  sometimes  ride ;  and  Donovan,  the  smart,  whisking,  and  very 
trustworthy  butler,  has  a  dish  of  tea  standing  ready  for  me  at  seven. 
By  this  means  I  have  brought,  myself  round  again.  I  like  the  ar- 
rangement also  because  I  have  more  time  to  myself,  and  am  less  re- 
stricted in  my  movements.  I  have  begun  translating  the  German 
book  which  Jack  knows  of.  I  am  busy,  I  shall  be  healthy,  and  in 
the  mean  time  I  am  as  comfortable  as  I  could  hope  to  be." 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Kinnaird:  June  24. 

"Tell  our  mother  I  have  a  fire  every  night,  and  that  all  things  I 
want  are  supplied  to  me  abundantly.  We  have  no  incidents  in  our 
menage.  Buller  fishes  and  rides,  and  eschews  heart(ache). 1  The 

1  Paper  torn. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  107 

lady  saunters  about  on  the  back  of  a  gray  stalking  pony,  and  fights 
against  ennui  as  fiercely  as  she  can.  Both  are  uniformly  civil  and 
even  kind  to  me.  We  have  got  two  visitors  from  the  south  with  us 
at  present,  Anna  Pole  and  Reginald  Pole  her  brother;  but  they  pro- 
duce no  change  in  our  mode  of  life.  The  lady  is  fully  arrived  at 
the  years  of  discretion,  at  least  if  these  are  under  thirty.  She  is 
good-humored,  understands  all  cookery  from  the  mixture  of  water- 
gruel  up  to  the  composition  of  the  choicest  curry.  She  has  a  cor- 
nelian necklace,  and  kind  blue  eyes,  and  a  bit  nimble-gaun  tongue. 
Reginald  has  been  at  Oxford  studying  the  nature  of  horses.  Philos- 
ophy is  all  a  hum;  but  the  short  back,  and  the  shoulder,  and  the 
hands  of  height,  and  the  price,  and  the  speed — these  are  the  points 
for  a  future  parson  of  the  English  Church.  My  own  boys  in  general 
behave  admirably  well  to  me  and  very  ill  to  themselves.  .  .  .  Under 
this  fine  climate  and  among  these  beautiful  scenes  I  am  at  no  loss  to 
pass  my  time  with  profit  to  my  body,  if  not  my  mind.  1  wander  by 
the  copses  on  the  shores  of  the  Tay,  or  stroll  over  these  black,  inter- 
minable, solitary  moors,  and  meditate  on  many  foolish  filings." 

Later  in  the  season,  when  London  began  to  empty  itself,  other 
guests  appeared  at  Kinnaird.  The  first  glimpse  into  the  great  world 
did  not  please  Carlyle. 

"I  see  something  of  fashionable  people  here  [lie  wrote  to  Miss 
Welsh],  and  truly  to  my  plebeian  conception  there  is  not  a  more 
futile  class  of  persons  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  If  I  were  doomed  to 
exist  as  a  man  of  fashion,  I  do  honestly  believe  I  should  swallow 
ratsbane,  or  apply  to  hemp  or  steel  before  three  months  were  over. 
From  day  to  day  and  year  to  year  the  problem  is,  not  how  to  use 
lime,  but  how  to  waste  it  least  painfully.  They  have  their  dinners 
and  their  routs.  They  move  heaven  and  earth  to  get  everything  ar- 
ranged and  enacted  properly;  and  when  the  whole  is  done  what  Ls 
it  ?  Had  the  parties  all  wrapped  themselves  in  warm  blankets  and 
kept  their  beds,  much  peace  had  been  among  several  hundreds  of 
his  Majesty's  subjects,  and  the  same  result,  the  uneasy  destruction  of 
half  a  dozen  hours,  had  been  quite  as  well  attained.  No  wonder 
poor  women  take  to  opium  and  scandal.  The  wonder  is  rather  that 
these  queens  of  the  land  do  not  some  morning,  struck  by  the  hope- 
lessness of  their  condition,  make  a  general  finish  by  simultaneous 
consent,  and  exhibit  to  coroners  and  juries  the  spectacle  of  the 
whole  world  of  ton  suspended  by  their  garters,  and  freed  at  last 
from  ennui  in  the  most  cheap  and  complete  of  all  possible  modes. 
There  is  something  in  the  life  of  a  sturdy  peasant  toiling  from  sun 
to  sun  for  a  plump  wife  and  six  eating  children;  but  as  for  the  Lady 
Jerseys  and  the  Lord  Petershams,  peace  be  with  them." 

There  was  a  glimpse,  too,  of  modern  sporting,  which  was  as  little 
admirable  as  the  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Kinaaird:  September  28. 

"  I  got  your  letter  last  Friday  on  returning  from  a  roe-hunt,  which 
we  had  all  been  assisting  at  in  the  wood  on  the  hill  beside  us.  A 


108  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

sorrier  piece  of  entertainment,  I  may  observe,  is  not  to  be  met  with 
in  this  kingdom.  They  went  hallooing  and  beating  the  bushes,  and 
talking  Gaelic,  the  gun-men  standing  at  certain  determined  points 
with  their  pieces  ready,  and  I  driving  on  Mrs.  Buller  and  a  wretched 
old  clout  of  a  white  pony  she  was  riding  on,  or  doing  my  best  to 
keep  her  in  talk  while  we  sat  for  hours  in  open  places  among  the 
heath.  In  the  course  of  the  day  they  got  two  fawns  about  as  large 
as  your  long-eared  warlock,  in  value  somewhere  about  sixpence  a 
piece,  and  thought  it  royal  sport.  Reginald  de  la  Pole  shot  them 
both,  and  never  was  victor  at  the  Olympic  games  more  charmed 
with  his  laurels.  Richard  Buller, '  the  other  Oxford  scholar,  declared 
on  the  first  occasion  '  he  would  have  given  a  sovereign  for  that  shot.v 
After  the  second  he  became  chapfallen,  and  spoke  little  more  for 
four-and- twenty  hours.  Sic  itur  ad  astra." 

Sporting  was  not  the  only  amusement  at  Kinnaird.  There  was 
literature  also  and  literary  discussion.  Irving's  popularity  had 
taken  fire,  as  Carlyle  called  it,  and  he  had  become  the  rage  of  fash 
ionable  London.  He  had  published  an  argument  for  judgment  to 
come,  written  in  great  excitement  and  under  some  imagined  quasi 
inspiration. 

"Irving's  book  [Carlyle  wrote]  is  come  three  days  ago.  Mrs. 
Buller  bought  it.  I  fear  it  will  hardly  do.  There  is  a  fierce  and 
very  spiteful  review  of  it  and  him  in  the  last  Blackwood.  There  is 
strong  talent  in  it,  true  eloquence  and  vigorous  thought,  but  the 
foundation  is  rotten,  and  the  building  itself  a  kind  of  monster  in 
architecture,  beautiful  in  parts,  vast  in  dimensions,  but  on  the  whole 
decidedly  a  monster.  Buller  has  stuck  in  the  middle  of  it,  '  Can't 
fall  in  with  your  friend  at  all,  Mr.  C.'  Mrs.  Buller  is  very  near 
sticking ;  sometimes  I  burst  right  out  laughing  when  reading  it. 
At  other  times  I  admired  it  sincerely. 

"I  am  sorry  [he  wrote  a  little  later  to  Miss  Welsh]  that  Irving's 
preaching  has  taken  such  a  turn;  he  had  been  much  better  if,  with- 
out the  pleasure  of  being  a  newspaper  lion  and  a  season's  wonder,  he 
had  gradually  become  what  he  must  ultimately  pass  for — a  preacher 
of  first-rate  abilities,  of  great  eloquence,  with  a  head  fertile  above  all 
others  in  sense  and  nonsense,  and  a  heart  of  the  most  honest  and 
kindly  sort.  As  it  is,  our  friend  incurs  the  risk  of  many  vagaries 
and  disasters,  and  at  best  the  certainty  of  much  disquietude.  His 
path  is  steadfast  and  manly  only  when  he  has  to  encounter  opposi- 
tion and  misfortune.  When  fed  with  flatteries  and  prosperity  his 
progress  soon  changes  into  'ground  and  lofty  tumbling,' accom- 
panied with  all  the  hazards  and  confusion  that  usually  attend  this 
species  of  condiment.  With  three  newspapers  to  praise  him  and 
three  to  blame,  with  about  six  peers  and  six  dozen  right  honorables 
introduced  to  him  every  Sunday,  tickets  issuing  for  his  church  as  if 
it  were  a  theatre,  and  all  the  devout  old  women  in  the  capital  treat- 
ing him  with  comfits  und  adulation,  I  know  that  ere  now  he  is  strik- 

1  Nephew  of  Mr.  Buller,  on  a  visit  at  Kinnaird. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  109 

ing  the  stars  with  his  sublime  head — well  if  he  do  not  break  his  shins 
among  the  rough  places  of  the  ground.  I  wish  we  saw  him  safely 
down  again,  and  walking  as  other  men  walk.  ...  I  have  meant  to 
write  to  him  very  frequently  for  almost  three  months,  but  I  know 
not  well  how  to  effect  it.  He  will  be  talking  about  '  the  Lord,'  and 
twenty  other  things  which  he  himself  only  wishes  to  believe,  and 
which  to  one  that  knows  and  loves  him  are  truly  painful  to  hear.  .  .  . 
Happy  Irving,  after  all,  that  is  fitted  with  a  task  which  he  loves  and 
is  equal  to.  He  entertains  no  doubt  that  he  is  battering  to  its  base 
the  fortress  of  the  alien,  and  he  lies  down  every  night  to  dream  of 
planting  the  old  true  blue  Presbyterian  flag  upon  the  summit  of  the 
ruins." 

"Happy  Irving,  that  is  fitted  with  a  task  that  he  loves."  With- 
out any  tinge  of  envy  Carlyle  could  not  but  contrast  his  friend's  lot 
with  his  own;  and  the  sense  of  this  was  perhaps  the  more  painful, 
because  his  friend  was  winning  fame  and  name  on  a  course  which 
he  knew  to  be  a  wrong  one.  But  a  few  years  since  they  were  poor 
school-masters  together  at  Kirkcaldy,  and  now  Irving  was  the  theo- 
logical lion  of  the  age,  the  passing  wonder  of  lawyers,  statesmen, 
and  men  of  the  world,  who,  having  set  religion  aside  as  no  longer 
worthy  of  serious  consideration,  were  awakened  by  him  to  a  languid 
belief  that  there  might  be  something  in  it  after  all.  Carlyle  saw  the 
hollowncss  of  the  success ;  yet  for  all  that  his  friend  had  been  lifted 
into  a  blaze  of  distinction,  while  he  was  still  unnoticed,  was  still  in 
his  own  conscience  undeserving  of  notice,  and  unable  to  turn  to  ac- 
count the  talents  which  he  knew  that  he  possessed.  He  would  have 
been  more  than  mortal  if  he  had  not  at  times  repined  at  the  inequali- 
ties of  Fate. 

Poor  Irving  !  Little  Carlyle  knew  or  could  measure  his  friend's 
real  condition.  So  far  from  "standing  on  tiptoe  on  Fortune's 
wheel,"  he  was  just  then  getting  married,  and  trying  to  forget  Had- 
dington.  Carlyle  saw  him  on  his  wedding-tour  in  the  Highlands. 
He  has  given  an  account  of  their  meeting  in  his  "Reminiscences" 
which  need  not  be  repeated  here.  It  had  been  intended  that  Miss 
Welsh  should  pay  Irving  and  his  wife  a  visit  in  London  as  soon  as 
they  were  settled.  But  Irving  could  not  face  the  trial ;  he  only 
hoped  that  a  time  might  come  when  he  might  be  able  to  face  it. 

"My  dear  Isabella  [he  wrote  to  her]  has  succeeded  in  healing  the 
wounds  of  my  heart  by  her  unexampled  affection  and  tenderness ; 
but  I  am  hardly  yet  in  a  condition  to  expose  them.  My  former 
calmness  and  piety  are  returning.  I  feel  growing  in  grace  and  holi- 
ness; and  before  another  year  I  shall  be  worthy  in  the  eye  of  my 
own  conscience  to  receive  you  into  my  house  and  under  my  care, 
which  till  then  I  should  hardly  be." 

Carlyle's  lot  was  happy  compared  to  Irving's,  and  yet  he  was  al- 
ready quarrelling  with  it.     The  Bullers,  as  he  admitted,  were  most 
I.— 6 


110  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

kind  and  considerate ;  yet  he  must  have  tried  their  patience.  Tie 
was  uneasy,  restless,  with  dyspepsia  and  intellectual  fever.  He  laid 
the  blame  on  his  position,  and  was  already  meditating  to  throw  up 
his  engagement. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  September  2. 

"I  sleep  irregularly  here,  and  feel  a  little,  very  little,  more  than 
my  usual  share  of  torture  every  day.  What  the  cause  is  would  puz- 
zle me  to  explain  within  the  limits  I  could  here  assign  it.  I  take 
exercise  sufficient  daily ;  I  attend  with  vigorous  minuteness  to  the 
quality  of  my  food ;  I  take  all  the  precautions  that  I  can,  yet  still 
the  disease  abates  not.  I  should  be  an  unreasonable  blockhead 
did  I  complain  of  the  conduct  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Buller  towards  me. 
Any  arrangement  that  I  could  suggest  would,  I  have  not  a  doubt, 
be  most  cheerfully  complied  with.  Much  trouble  they  have  al- 
ready had  with  me.  But  their  good  resolutions  and  enactments  re- 
quire to  be  executed  by  a  pack  of  lazy,  careless,  and  irregular  wait- 
ing men  and  women,  and  often  in  this  wasteful  transmission  their 
good-will  comes  my  length  almost  void.  It  is  the  hundred  petty 
omissions  and  commissions  of  this  canaille,  coupled  with  the  small 
inquietudes  and  vexations,  small  but  often  returning,  of  my  official 
employments  that  chiefly  act  against  me,  and  render  this  Kinnaird  a 
worse  place  for  me  than  Mainhill.  Pity  that  it  were  so.  I  might 
else  be  very  happy.  Here  am  I  sitting  in  this  far  highland  glen, 
under  a  fair  autumn  night,  with  my  clear  fire  of  oak  sticks  blazing 
near  me,  my  books  and  my  tackle  all  around  me,  and  no  sound  at 
all  but  now  and  then  the  twang  of  honest  James  Gow's  fiddle,  who 
is  solacing  his  labors  by  this  not  usual  gratification;  partly,  I  sup- 
pose, because  he  sees  the  sky  beautiful  and  mild  and  kind,  and  feels 
in  spirits,  he  knows  not  why.  The  boys  and  old  people  and  all  seem 
to  grow  in  their  esteem  for  me.  It  is  very  hard.  But  what  avails 
its  hardness  or  softness  either  ?  Let  us  have  done  witll  whining, 
and  consider  what  steps  can  be  taken  to  remedy  it.  Often  and  long 
have  I  meditated  that  point  since  I  came  hither.  I  have  cudgelled 
my  brains  till  they  are  sore  to  seek  deliverance  ;  for,  like  Joseph  of 
Austria,  par  ma  tete  seule  must  I  get  help  if  I  get  help  at  all.  This, 
then,  Jack,  I  have  in  view  at  present.  The  Bullers — I  mean  the  old 
gentry,  with  Miss  Pole — are  gone  to  Aberdeen  to  some  Caledonian 
hunt  or  other,  and  will  not  be  back  for  ten  days.  At  their  return, 
if  I  am  not  better  than  I  have  been  lately,  I  shall  say  to  them,  '  My 
very  noble  and  approved  good  masters,  allow  me  to  ask  you  what 
you  purpose  doing  through  the  winter  with  your  boys  ?  If  to  go  to 
Edinburgh,  can  I  be  any  way  accommodated  there,  so  that  I  shall 
have  the  entire  command  of  my  eating  and  drinking,  sleeping,  wak- 
ing, and  general  regimen  ?  If  so,  then  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  serve 
you.  To  stay  here  as  you  once  proposed?  This  plan  I  doubt  not 
may  be  attended  with  a  thousand  benefits  ;  but  for  my  poor  share 
of  it,  I  have  distinctly  ascertained  that  my  kfrkage  cannot  stand 
it  without  manifest  and  permanent  injury,  and  therefore,  with  the 
most  profound  dorsoflexions,  I  beg  to  wish  you  all  good-morning  as 
soon  as  may  be. ' 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  Ill 

"  So  here,  you  see,  the  matter  rests.  I  care  not  the  tossing  of  a 
halfpenny  whether  I  go  or  stay.  If  I  go,  I  have  money  enough  to 
keep  me  for  a  year  or  two.  I  can  obtain  plenty  of  literary  tasks, 
and  get  them  done  about  five  times  as  effectually  as  now.  If  I  stay, 
1  shall  gather  a  hundred  or  two  additional  pounds,  and  have  the 
privilege  of  living  for  the  winter  in  Edinburgh,  where  my  engage- 
ments call  me  to  be,  at  any  rate.  I  shall  leave  it  in  spring  with 
books  and  pens  and  fresh  undertakings.  We  shall  get  some  accom- 
modation furbished  up  at  Mninhill  (the  old  peel  house  or  some  hole), 
where,  by  the  aid  of  Bardolph1  and  my  faithful  mother,  I  am  nearly 
certain  I  can  recover  my  health.  I  shall  be  very  busy,  and  we  can 
all  live  together  as  merry  as  maltmen  ;  so  I  cast  my  cap  into  the  air 
in  defiance  of  all  things  yet ;  for  the  spirit  that  is  in  me  is  still  un- 
broken as  the  spirit  of  that  old  lame  duck  you  have  at  home,  who 
trusts,  though  at  present  winged  and  mashed  in  both  her  limbs,  that 
she  shall  yet  by  the  blessing  of  Providence  lay  above  five  shillings' 
worth  of  eggs,  and  be  useful  in  her  day  and  generation." 

In  better  moments  Carlyle  recognized  that  the  mischief  was  in 
himself,  and  that  the  spot  did  not  exist  upon  earth  where  so  sepsi- 
tive  a  skin  would  not  be  irritated.  He  wrote,  three  weeks  after  : 

"I  find  the  Bullers  are  determined  to  stay  here  with  us  all  the 
winter.  If  I  had  any  quiet  place  to  retire  to  I  believe  I  should  be 
tempted  to  throw  up  my  commission  to-morrow,  and  set  forth  to  try 
the  voyage  on  another  tack,  as  I  must  erelong  do  at  any  rate.  But 
there  is  none.  Mainhill  must  be  full  of  bustle  and  confusion  at  this 
time,*  unfit  for  purposes  of  literary  labor.  Of  Edinburgh,  of  liv- 
ing in  lodgings  with  Mantie,3  and  stenches  and  horrors  more  than 
tongue  can  tell  to  drive  me  to  despair,  I  cannot  think  without  a 
cold  shudder  which  scarcely  the  prospect  of  the  gallows  could  bring 
over  me.  Many  a  man,  I  am  sure,  has  been  tried  by  fifteen  of  his 
peers,  and  fairly  doomed  and  hanged,  and  quartered  by  the  doctors, 
with  less  torment  than  I  have  suffered  in  that  fatal  city  for  no  cause 
at  all.  What  then  shall  I  do  ?  In  days  when  wrecked  with  want 
of  sleep  and  all  its  infernal  et  cwteras,  I  am  sometimes  within  an 
inch  of  writing  to  Buller  to  signify  my  resolution  of  departing ;  but 
their  kindness  to  me  and  the  reflection  of  my  inability  to  mend  the 
matter  certainly,  and  the  risk  I  run  of  making  it  considerably  worse, 
always  shuts  my  mouth.  Next  day,  perhaps,  I  shall  sleep  better 
and  become  as  lively  as  a  hawk,  and  think  I  might  exist  here  long 
enough  very  comfortably.  Thus  I  vary  and  vacillate.  Most  prob- 
ably it  will  long  be  so.  It  seems  likely  I  shall  just  thring  on  here 
till  I  get  desperate,  and  then  cut  and  run. 

"Meanwhile  I  make  a  point  of  going  on  with  Goethe.4  Ten 
pages  I  find  more  than  I  can  almost  ever  execute,  for  it  is  very 
hard,  and  I  scarcely  get  fairly  into  the  spirit  of  it  till  I  must  leave 
off.  Nevertheless,  I  gar  myself  (as  our  father  would  do)  go  on  with 

1  A  horse  bought  for  Carlyle  by  his  brother  Alexander,  anil  with  him  at  Kinnaird. 

2  Harvest.  9  JIantie  was  the  name  of  his  least-loved  landlady. 
4  The  translation  of  "  Meister. " 


112  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

this  thing.  I  am  now  more  than  half  through  the  first  volume.  It 
will  all  be 'ready  long  ere  spring.  You  and  I  could  do  it  in  fotir 
weeks  if  we  had  quiet  quarters,  and  the  fiend  would  give  me  any 
respite.  I  am  sometimes  tempted  to  sally  off  and  get  it  done  and 
then  have  it  printed  in  winter;  then  take  something  different  and 
better  down  to  Mainhill,  to  work  and  toil  as  if  I  were  a  brownie,  not 
a  man,  till  I  have  conquered  all  these  mean  impediments  that  hem 
in  the  free-born,  heaven-tending  soul.  I  say,  Jack,  thou  and  I  must 
never  falter.  Work,  my  boy,  work  unweariedly.  I  swear  that  all 
the  thousand  miseries  of  this  hard  fight,  and  ill-health,  the  most  ter- 
rific of  them  all,  shall  never  chain  us  down.  By  the  river  Styx  it 
shall  not.  Two  fellows  from  a  nameless  spot  in  Annandale  shall 
yet  show  the  world  the  pluck  that  is  in  Carlyles." 

Mrs.  Buller  must  have  been  a  most  forbearing  and  discerning 
woman.  She  must  have  suffered,  like  every  one  who  came  in  con- 
tact with  Carlyle,  from  his  strange  humors,  but  she  had  mind  enough 
to  see  what  he  was,  and  was  willing  to  endure  much  to  keep  such  a 
man  at  her  sons'  side. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A.D.  1823.    JET.  28. 

IF  Carlyle  complained,  his  complaints  were  the  impatience  of  a 
man  who  was  working  with  all  his  might.  If  his  dyspepsia  did  him 
no  serious  harm,  it  obstructed  his  efforts  and  made  him  miserable 
with  pain.  He  had  written  the  first  part  of  "  Schiller,"  which  was 
now  coming  out  in  the  London  Magazine.  He  was  translating 
"Meister;"  and  his  translation,  though  the  production  of  a  man 
who  had  taught  himself  with  grammar  and  dictionary,  and  had 
never  spoken  a  word  of  German,  is  yet  one  of  the  very  best  which 
has  ever  been  made  from  one  language  into  another.  In  everything 
which  he  undertook  he  never  spared  labor  or  slurred  over  a  difficul- 
ty, but  endeavored  with  all  his  might  to  do  his  work  faithfully.  A 
journal  which  he  kept  intermittently  at  Kinnaird  throws  light  into 
the  inner  regions  of  his  mind,  while  it  shows  also  how  much  he 
really  suffered.  Deeply  as  he  admired  his  German  friends,  his  stern 
Scotch  Calvinism  found  much  in  them  that  offended  him.  Goethe 
and  even  Schiller  appeared  to  think  that  the  hope  of  improvement 
for  mankind  lay  in  culture  rather  than  morality — in  aesthetics,  in 
arts,  in  poetry,  in  the  drama,  rather  than  in  obedience  to  the  old  rugged 
rules  of  right  and  wrong;  and  this  perplexed  and  displeased  him. 

"  Schiller  [lie  writes]  was  a  very  worthy  character,  possessed  of 
great  talents,  and  fortunate  in  always  finding  means  to  employ  them 
in  the  attainment  of  worthy  ends.  The  pursuit  of  the  Beautiful,  the 
representing  it  in  suitable  forms,  and  the  diffusion  of  the  feelings 
arising  from  it,  operated  as  a  kind  of  religion  in  his  soul.  He  talks 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  113 

in  some  of  his  essays  about  the  aesthetic  being  a  necessary  means  of 
improvement  among  political  societies.  His  efforts  in  this  cause 
accordingly  not  only  satisfied  the  restless  activity,  the  desire  of  cre- 
ating and  working  upon,  others  which  forms  the  great  want  of  an 
elevated  mind,  but  yielded  a  sort  of  balsam  to  his  conscience.  He 
viewed  himself  as  an  apostle  of  the  Sublime.  Pity  that  he  had  no 
better  way  of  satisfying  it.  A  playhouse  shows  but  indifferently  as 
an  arena  for  the  moralist.  It  is  even  inferior  to  the  synod  of  the 
theologian.  One  is  tired  to  death  with  his  and  Goethe's  palabra, 
about  the  nature  of  the  fine  arts.  Did  Shakespeare  know  anything 
of  the  aesthetic?  Did  Homer?  Kant's  philosophy  has  a  gigantic 
appearance  at  a  distance,  enveloped  in  clouds  and  darkness,  shad- 
owed forth  in  types  and  symbols  of  unknown  and  fantastic  deriva- 
tion. There  is  an  apparatus,  and  a  flourishing  of  drums  and  trum- 
pets, and  a  tumultuous  Marktschreyerei,  as  if  all  the  earth  were  going 
to  renew  its  youth ;  and  the  Esoterics  are  equally  allured  by  all  thi.s 
pomp  and  circumstance,  and  repelled  by  the  hollowness  and  airy 
nothingness  of  the  ware  which  is  presented  to  them.  Any  of  the 
results  which  have  been  made  intelligible  to  us  turn  out  to  be — like 
Dryden  in  the  '  Battle  of  the  Books ' — a  helmet  of  rusty  iron  large 
as  a  kitchen  pot,  and  within  it  a  head  little  bigger  than  a  nut. 
What  is  Schlegel's  great  solution  of  the  mystery  of  life  ? — '  the  strife 
of  necessity  against  the  will.'  Nothing  earthly  but  the  old  old  story 
that  all  men  find  it  difficult  to  get  on  in  the  world,  and  that  one 
never  can  get  all  his  humors  out.  They  pretend  that  Nature  gives 
people  true  intimations  of  true  beauty  and  just  principles  in  Art ; 
but  the  Mldende  Kiinstkr  and  the  nchtende  ought  to  investigate  the 
true  foundation  of  these  obscure  intimations,  and  set  them  fast  on 
the  basis  of  reason.  Stuff  and  nonsense  I  fear  it  is.  People  made 
finer  pieces  of  workmanship  when  there  was  not  a  critic  among 
them,  just  as  people  did  finer  actions  when  there  was  no  theory  of 
the  moral  sentiments  among  them.  Nature  is  the  sure  guide  in  all 
cases  ;  and  perhaps  the  only  requisite  is  that  we  have  judgment 
enough  to  apply  the  sentiment  implanted  in  us  without  an  effort  to 
the  more  complex  circumstances  that  will  meet  us  more  frequently 
as  we  advance  in  culture  or  move  in  a  society  more  artificial.  Poor 
silly  sons  of  Adam !  you  have  been  prating  on  these  things  for  two 
or  three  thousand  years,  and  you  have  not  advanced  a  hair's  breadth 
towards  the  conclusion.  Poor  fellows,  and  poorer  me,  that  take  tho 
trouble  to  repeat  such  insipidities  and  truisms. " 

Here,  on  the  same  page,  Carlyle  sketch- 
ed the  emblem  of  the  wasting  candle, 
with  the  motto  written  on  it,  "  Tcrar 
duin  proxim."  "May  I  be  wasted,  so 
that  I  be  of  use."  He  goes  on: 

' '  But  what  if  I  do  not  prosum  f  Why 
then  tcrar  still,  so  I  cannot  help  it.  This 
is  the  end  and  beginning  of  all  philosophy, 
known  even  to  Singleton  the  blacksmith  ; 
we  must  just  do  the  best  we  can.  Oh,  most  lame  and  impotent 


114  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

conclusion  !  I  wish  I  fully  understood  the  philosophy  of  Kant.  Is 
it  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  human  folly?  or  the  brightest  in  the 
history  of  human  wisdom  ?  or  both  mixed  ?  and  in  what  degree  ?" 

This  was  written  on  May  23.     The  next  entry  begins — 

"It  is  now  November ;  six  weary  months  have  passed  away,  an- 
other portion  from  my  span  of  being;  and  here  am  I,  in  a  wet,  dreary 
night  at  Kinnaird,  with  no  recollections  or  acquisitions  to  fill  up 
that  span  with;  but  the  recollection  of  agonized  days  and  nights, 
and  the  acquisition  of  a  state  of  health  worse  than  ever  it  was.  My 
time !  my  time  !  my  peace  and  activity  !  where  are  they?  I  could 
read  the  curse  of  Ernulphus,  or  something  twenty  times  as  fierce, 
upon  myself  and  all  things  earthly.  What  will  become  of  me  ? 
Happiness !  Tophet  must  be  happier  than  this ;  or  they  —  but, 
basta!  it  is  no  use  talking.  Let  me  get  on  with  Schiller,  then  with 
Goethe.  '  They  that  meaned  at  a  gowden  gown  gat  aye  the  sleeve.' 
I  shall  not  get  even  the  listing.  '  Schiller '  is  in  the  wrong  vein — 
laborious,  partly  affected,  meagre,  bombastic.  Too  often  it  strives 
by  lofty  words  to  hide  littleness  of  thought.  Would  I  were  done 
with  it !  Oh,  Carlyle  !  if  thou  ever  become  happy,  think  on  these 
days  of  pain  and  darkness,  and  thou  wilt  join  trembling  with  thy 
mirth." 

"  There  is  something  in  reading  a  weak  or  dull  book  very  nauseous 
to  me.  Reading  is  a  weariness  of  the  flesh.  After  reading  and 
studying  about  two  scores  of  good  books  there  is  no  new  thing 
whatever  to  be  met  with  in  the  generality  of  libraries ;  repetitions 
a  thousand  times  repeated  of  the  same  general  idea.  Feelings, 
opinions,  and  events,  all  is  what  we  might  anticipate.  No  man 
without  Themistocles's  gift  of  forgetting  can  possibly  spend  his  days 
in  reading.  Generally  about  the  age  of  five-and-twenty  he  should 
begin  to  put  the  little  knowledge  he  has  acquired  (it  can  be  but  lit- 
tle) from  books  to  some  practical  use.  If  I  could  write,  that  were 
my  practical  use.  But,  alas  !  alas  !  Oh  Schiller  !  what  secret  hadst 
thou  for  creating  such  things  as  Max  and  Thekla  when  thy  body 
was  wasting  with  disease  ?  I  am  well-nigh  done,  I  think.  To  die 
is  hard  enough  at  this  age.  To  die  by  inches  is  very  hard.  But 
I  will  not.  Though  all  things  human  and  divine  are  against  me,  I 
will  not. 

"December  14. — '  Schiller,' part  ii.,  is  off  to  London  three  weeks 
ago.  It  was  very  bad.  Part  iii.  I  am  swithering  to  begin;  would  it 
were  finished! 

"I  spent  ten  days  wretchedly  in  Edinburgh  and  Haddington.  I 
was  consulting  doctors,  who  made  me  give  up  my  dear  nicotium 
and  take  to  mercury.  I  am  to  write  letters,  and  then  begin  Schiller. 
May  God  bless  all  my  friends !  my  poor  mother  at  the  head  of  them. 
It  sometimes  comes  on  me  like  the  shadow  of  death  that  we  are  all 
parting  from  one  another — each  moving  his  several,  his  inevitable 
way;  fate  driving  us  on — inexorable,  dread,  relentless  fate.  No  de- 
liverance! (Mit  clem  Fusse  stampfend.)  No  help?  Alas,  poor  sons 
of  Adam! 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  115 

"December  31. — The  year  is  closing.  This  time  eight-and-twenty 
years  I  was  a  child  of  three  weeks  old,  sleeping  iu  my  mother's 
bosom. 

'Oh!  little  did  my  mithcr  thiuk 

That  day  she  emdled  me, 
The  lands  that  I  should  travel  in, 
The  death  I  was  to  dee. ' 

Another  hour  and  1823  is  with  the  years  beyond  the  flood.  What 
have  I  done  to  mark  the  course  of  it?  Suffered  the  pangs  of  Tophet 
almost  daily;  grown  sicker  and  sicker;  alienated  by  my  misery  cer- 
tain of  my  friends,  and  worn  out  from  my  own  mind  a  few  remain- 
ing capabilities  of  enjoyment;  reduced  my  world  a  little  nearer  the 
condition  of  a  bare,  rugged  desert,  where  peace  and  rest  for  me  is 
none.  Hopeful  youth,  Mr.  C. !  Another  year  or  two  and  it  will  do. 
Another  year  or  two  and  thou  wilt  wholly  be — this  caput  mortuum 
of  thy  former  self;  a  creature  ignorant,  stupid,  peevish,  disappoint- 
ed, broken-hearted,  the  veriest  wretch  upon  the  surface  of  the  globe. 
My  curse  seems  deeper  and  blacker  than  that  of  any  man:  to  be  im- 
mured in  a  rotten  carcass,  every  avenue  of  which  is  changed  into  an 
inlet  of  pain,  till  my  intellect  is  obscured  and  weakened,  and  my 
head  and  heart  are  alike  desolate  and  dark.  How  have  I  deserved 
this?  Or  is  it  mere  fate  that  orders  these  things,  caring  no  jot  for 
merit  or  demerit,  crushing  our  poor  mortal  interests  among  its  pon- 
derous machinery,  and  grinding  us  and  them  to  dust  relentlessly? 
I  know  not.  Shall  I  ever  know?  Then  why  don't  you  kill  yourself, 
sir?  Is  there  not  arsenic?  is  there  not  ratsbane  of  various  kinds? 
and  hemp?  and  steel?  Most  true,  Sathanas,  all  these  thing  are;  but 
it  will  be  time  enough  to  use  them  when  I  have  lost  the  game  which 
I  am  as  yet  but  losing.  You  observe,  sir,  I  have  still  a  glimmering 
of  hope;  and  while  my  friends,  my  mother,  father,  brothers,  sisters 
live,  the  duty  of  not  breaking  their  hearts  would  still  remain  to  be 
performed  when  hope  had  utterly  fled.  For  which  reason — even  if 
there  were  no  others,  which,  however,  I  believe  there  are — the  be- 
nevolent Sathanas  will  excuse  me.  I  do  not  design  to  be  a  suicide. 
God  in  heaven  forbid !  That  way  I  was  never  tempted.  But  where 
is  the  use  of  going  on  with  this?  I  am  not  writing  like  a  reasonable 
man.  If  I  am  miserable  the  more  reason  there  is  to  gather  my  fac- 
ulties together,  and  see  what  can  be  done  to  help  myself.  I  want 
health,  health,  health!  On  this  subject  I  am  becoming  quite  furi- 
ous ;  my  torments  are  greater  than  I  am  able  to  bear.  If  I  do  not 
soon  recover,  I  am  miserable  for  ever  and  ever.  They  talk  of 
the  benefit  of  ill-health  in  a  moral  point  of  view.  I  declare  solemn- 
ly, without  exaggeration,  that  I  impute  nine-tenths  of  my  present 
wretchedness,  and  rather  more  than  nine-tenths  of  all  my  faults,  to 
this  infernal  disorder  in  the  stomach. 

"But  if  it  were  once  away,  I  think  I  could  snap  my  fingers  in  the 
face  of  all  the  world.  The  only  good  of  it  is  the  friends  it  tries  for 
us  and  endears  to  us.  Oh,  there  is  a  charm  in  true  affection  that 
suffering  cannot  weary,  that  abides  by  us  in  the  day  of  fretfulness 
and  dark  calamity,  a  charm  which  almost  makes  amends  for  misery. 
Love  to  friends — alas!  I  may  almost  say  relatives — is  now  almost 
the  sole  religion  of  my  miud. 


116  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"I  have  hopes  of  'Meister,'  though  they  are  still  very  faint. 
'  Schiller,'  part  iii.,  I  began  just  three  nights  ago.  I  absolutely  could 
not  sooner.  These  drugs  leave  me  scarcely  the  consciousness  of  ex- 
istence. I  am  scribbling,  not  writing,  '  Schiller.'  My  mind  will  not 
catch  hold  of  it.  I  skim  it,  do  it  as  I  will,  and  I  am  as  anxious  as 
possible  to  get  it  off  my  hands.  It  will  not  do  for  publishing  sepa- 
rately. It  is  not  in  my  natural  yein.  I  wrote  a  very  little  of  it  to- 
night, and  then  went  and  talked  ineptitudes  at  the  house.  Alas! 
there  is  mercurial  powder  in  me,  and  a  gnawing  pain  over  all  the 
organs  of  digestion,  especially  in  the  pit  and  left  side  of  the  stomach. 
Let  this  excuse  the  wild  absurdity  above. 

"  Half -past  eleven. — The  silly  Donovan  is  coming  down  (at  least 
so  I  interpreted  his  threat)  with  punch  or  'wishes,' which  curtails 
the  few  reflections  that  mercury  might  still  leave  it  in  my  power  to 
make.  To  make  none  at  all  will  perhaps  be  as  well.  It  exhibits 
not  an  interesting,  but  a  true  picture  of  my  present  mood — stupid, 
unhappy,  by  fits  wretched,  but  also  dull — dull  and  very  weak. 

1  Now  fare  thcc  well,  old  twenty-three, 
No  powers,  no  arts  can  theo  retain; 
Eternity  will  roll  away. 
And  thou  wilt  never  come  again. 

'  And  welcome  thou,  young  twenty-four, 

Thou  bringest  to  men  of  joy  and  grief; 
Whatever  thou  bringest  in  sufferings  sour, 

The  heart  in  faith  will  hope  relief. ' 

Here  thou  art,  by  Jove!     Donny  is  not  come.      Good-night — to 
whom? 

"January  7. — Last  Sunday  came  the  Times  newspaper  with  the 
commencement  of  '  Schiller,' part  ii.,  extracted.  So  Walter  thought 
it  on  this  side  zero.  I  believe  this  is  about  the  first  compliment 
(most  slender  as  it  is)  that  ever  was  paid  me  by  a  person  who  could 
have  no  interest  in  hoodwinking  me.  I  am  very  weak.  It  kept 
me  cheerful  for  an  hour.  Even  yet  I  sometimes  feel  it.  Certainly 
no  one  ever  wrote  with  such  tremendous  difficulty  as  I  do.  Shall  I 
ever  learn  to  write  with  ease?" 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Carlyle  suffered,  and  perhaps  suffered 
excessively.  It  is  equally  certain  that  his  sufferings  were  immensely 
aggravated  by  the  treatment  to  which  he  was  submitted.  ' '  A  long 
hairy-eared  jackass,"  as  he  called  some  eminent  Edinburgh  physician, 
had  ordered  him  to  give  up  tobacco,  but  he  had  ordered  him  to  take 
mercury,  as  well ;  and  he  told  me  that  along  with  the  mercury  he 
must  have  swallowed  whole  hogsheads  of  castor-oil.  Much  of  his 
pain  would  be  so  accounted  for  ;  but  of  all  the  men  whom  I  have 
ever  seen,  Carlyle  was  the  least  patient  of  the  common  woes  of  hu- 
manity. Nature  had,  in  fact,  given  him  a  constitution  of  unusual 
strength.  He  saw  his  ailments  through  the  lens  of  his  imagination, 
so  magnified  by  the  metaphors  in  which  he  described  them  as  to  seem 
to  him  to  be  something  supernatural ;  and  if  he  was  a  torment  to 
himself,  he  distracted  every  one  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  117 

had  been  to  Edinburgh  about  the  printing  of  "Meister,"and  had 
slept  in  the  lodgings  which  he  had  longed  for  at  Kinnaird.  "  There 
was  one  of  those  public  guardians  there,"1  he  says  in  a  letter,  "whose 
throat  I  could  have  cut  that  night ;  his  voice  was  loud,  hideous,  and 
ear  and  soul  piercing,  resembling  the  voices  of  ten  thousand  gib-cats 
all  molten  into  one  terrific  peal."  He  had  been  given  rooms  in  a 
separate  house  at  Kinnaird  for  the  sake  of  quiet.  This  did  not  con- 
tent him  either.  When  the  winter  came  he  complained  of  the  cold. 

"My  bower  [he  said]  is  the  most  polite  of  bowers,  refusing  admit- 
tance to  no  wind  that  blows  from  any  quarter  of  the  shipmate's 
card.  It  is  scarcely  larger  than  your  room  at  Mainhill ;  yet  has  three 
windows,  and,  of  course,  a  door,  all  shrunk  and  crazy.  The  walls, 
too,  are  pierced  with  many  crevices,  for  the  mansion  has  been  built 
by  Highland  masons,  apparently  in  a  remote  century.  I  put  on  my 
gray  duffle  sitting  jupe.  I  bullyrag  the  sluttish  harlots  of  the  place, 
and  cause  them  to  make  fires  that  would  melt  a  stithy  ".  .  .  . 

Poor  Mrs.  Buller's  household  management  pleased  him  as  little. 

"This  blessed  stomach  I  have  lost  all  patience  with  [he  wrote  to 
his  brother  Alexander].  The  want  of  health  threatens  to  be  the 
downdraught  of  all  my  lofty  schemes.  My  heart  is  burnt  with  fury 
and  indignation  when  I  think  of  being  cramped  and  shackled  and 
tormented  as  never  man  till  me  was.  '  There  is  too  much  fire  in  my 
belly, 'as  Ram  Dass  said,  to  permit  my  dwindling  into  a  paltry  val- 
etudinarian. I  must  and  will  be  free  from  these  despicable  fetters, 
whatever  may  betide.  ...  I  could  almost  set  my  house  in  order, 
and  go  and  hang  myself  like  Judas.  If  I  take  any  of  their  swine- 
meat  porridge,  I  sleep ;  but  a  double  portion  of  stupidity  overwhelms 
me,  and  I  awake  very  early  in  the  morning  with  the  sweet  conscious- 
ness that  another  day  of  my  precious,  precious  time  is  gone  irrevo- 
cably, that  I  have  been  very  miserable  yesterday,  and  shall  be  very 
miserable  to-day.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  I  can  never  recover  or  retain 
my  health  under  the  economy  of  Mrs.  Buller.  Nothing,  therefore, 
remains  for  me  but  to  leave  it.  This  kind  of  life  is  next  to  absolute 
starvation,  only  slower  in  its  agony.  And  if  I  had  my  health  even 
moderately  restored,  I  could  earn  as  much  by  my  own  exertions." 

So  it  would  be  one  day.  The  next,  the  pain  would  be  gone,  the 
sun  would  be  shining  again,  and  nothing  would  remain  but  a  twinge 
of  remorse  for  the  anxiety  which  his  clamors  might  have  caused. 
He  apologized  in  a  letter  to  his  father  with  characteristic  coolness  : 


I  often  grieve  for  the  uneasiness  my  complaining  costs  you  and 


truth  is,  complaint  is  the  natural  resource  of  uneasiness,  and  I  have 


1  A  watchman. 
6* 


118  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

none  that  I  care  to  complain  to  but  you.  After  all,  however,  I  am 
not  so  miserable  as  you  would  think.  My  health  is  better  than  it 
was  last  year,  but  I  have  lost  all  patience  with  it ;  and  whenever  any 
retrograde  movement  comes  in  view,  I  get  quite  desperate  in  the 
matter,  being  determined  that  I  must  get  well — cost  what  it  will. 
On  days  when  moderately  well  I  feel  as  happy  as  others ;  happier 
perhaps,  for  sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain." 

I  have  dwelt  more  fully  on  these  aspects  of  Carlyle's  character 
than  in  themselves  they  deserve,  because  the  irritability  which  he 
could  not  or  would  not  try  to  control  followed  him  through  the 
greater  part  of  his  life.  It  was  no  light  matter  to  take  charge  of 
such  a  person,  as  Miss  Welsh  was  beginning  to  contemplate  the  pos- 
sibility of  doing.  Nor  can  we  blame  the  anxiety  with  which  her 
mother  was  now  regarding  the  closeness  of  the  correspondence  be- 
tween Carlyle  and  her  daughter.  Extreme  as  was  the  undesirable- 
ness  of  such  a  marriage  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  it  is  to  Mrs. 
Welsh's  credit  that  inequality  of  social  position  was  not  the  cause 
of  her  alarm  so  much  as  the  violence  of  temper  which  Carlyle  could 
not  restrain  even  before  her.  The  fault,  however,  was  of  the  surface 
merely,  and  Miss  Welsh  was  not  the  only  person  who  could  see  the 
essential  quality  of  the  nature  which  lay  below.  Mrs.  Buller  hud 
suffered  from  Carlyle's  humors  as  keenly  as  any  one,  except,  per- 
haps, her  poor  "sluttish  harlots ;"  yet  she  was  most  anxious  that  he 
should  remain  with  the  family  and  have  the  exclusive  training  of 
her  sons.  They  had  been  long  enough  at  Kinnaird ;  their  future 
plans  were  unsettled.  They  thought  of  a  house  in  Cornwall,  of  a 
house  in  London,  of  travelling  abroad,  in  all  of  which  arrangements 
they  desired  to  include  Carlyle.  At  length  it  was  settled — so  far  as 
Mrs.  Buller  could  settle  anything — that  they  were  to  stay  where  they 
were  till  the  end  of  January,  and  then  go  for  the  season  to  London. 
Carlyle  was  to  remain  behind  in  Scotland  till  he  had  carried  "Meis- 
ter  "  through  the  press.  Irving  had  invited  him  to  be  his  guest  at 
any  time  in  the  spring  which  might  suit  him,  and  farther  plans 
could  then  be  arranged.  For  the  moment  his  mind  was  taken  off 
from  his  own  sorrows  by  the  need  of  helping  his  brothers.  His 
brother  Alick  was  starting  in  business  as  a  farmer.  Carlyle  found 
him  in  money,  and  refused  to  be  thanked  for  it.  "  What  any  breth- 
ren of  our  father's  house  possess,"  he  said,  "  I  look  on  as  common 
Btock,  from  which  all  are  entitled  to  draw  whenever  their  conven- 
ience requires  it.  Feelings  far  nobler  than  pride  are  my  guides  in 
such  matters. " 

He  was  already  supporting  John  Carlyle  at  College,  and  not  sup- 
porting only,  but  directing  and  advising.  His  counsels  were  always 
wise.  As  a  son  and  brother  his  conduct  in  all  essentials  was  fault- 
lessly admirable.  Here  is  a  letter  on  the  value  of  a  profession. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  119 

John,  it  seems,  was  shrinking  from  drudgery,  and  inclining  to  fol- 
low the  siren  of  literature  : 

Tli&mas  Carlyle  to  John  Carlyle. 

"  Kinnaird :  January  1, 1824. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  repugnance  to  medicine  is  gradually 
wearing  away.  Persist  honestly  in  the  study,  and  you  will  like  it 
more  and  more.  Like  all  practical  sciences,  medicine  is  begirt  with 
a  tangled  border  of  minute,  technical,  uninteresting,  or,  it  may  be, 
disgusting  details,  the  whole  of  which  must  be  mastered  before  you 
penetrate  into  the  philosophy  of  the  business,  and  get  the  better  pow- 
ers of  your  understanding  at  all  fastened  on  the  subject.  You  are 
now,  I  suppose,  getting  across  these  brambly  thickets  into  the  green 
fields  of  the  science.  Go  on  and  prosper,  my  dear  Jack !  Let  not 
the  difficulties  repulse  you,  nor  the  little  contentions  of  natural  taste 
abate  your  ardor.  To  conquer  our  inclinations  of  whatever  sort  is 
a  lesson  which  all  men  have  to  learn,  and  the  man  who  learns  it 
soonest  will  learn  it  easiest.  This  medicine  your  judgment  says  is 
to  be  useful  to  you.  Do  you  assail  it  and  get  the  better  of  it,  in  spite 
of  all  other  considerations.  It  is  a  noble  thing  to  have  a  profession 
by  the  end:  it  makes  a  man  independent  of  all  mortals.  He  is  richer 
than  a  lord,  for  no  external  change  can  destroy  the  possession  which 
he  has  acquired  for  himself.  Nor  is  there  any  weight  in  the  fears 
you  labor  under  about  failing  in  more  interesting  acquisitions  by 
your  diligence  in  following  after  this.  It  appears  to  me  that  a  man 
who  is  not  born  to  some  independency,  if  he  means  to  devote  him- 
self to  literature  properly  so  called,  even  ought  to  study  some  pro- 
fession which  as  a  first  preliminary  will  enable  him  to  live.  It  is 
galling  and  heart-burning  to  live  on  the  precarious  windfalls  of  liter- 
ature ;  and  the  idea  that  one  has  not  time  for  practising  an  honest 
calling  is  stark  delusion.  I  could  have  studied  three  professions  in 
the  time  I  have  been  forced,  for  want  of  one,  to  spend  in  strenuous 
idleness.  I  could  practise  the  most  laborious  doctor's  occupation  at 
this  moment  in  less  time  than  I  am  constrained  to  devote  to  toiling 
in  that  which  cannot  permanently  profit,  and  serves  only  to  make  a 
scanty  provision  for  the  day  that  is  passing  over  me ;  but  I  will 
I  trench  no  more,  for  you  are  a  reasonable  youth,  Jack,  and  are 
already  bent  on  persevering." 

The  life  at  Kinnaird  was  running  out.  The  last  roes  were  shot  on 
the  mountains,  and  the  last  visitors  were  drifting  away.  Carlyle  too 
was  longing  to  be  gone,  but  the  move  was  continually  postponed. 

"He  wad  need  to  have  a  lang  ladle  that  sups  with  the  Deil  [he 
said],  and  he  wad  need  to  have  a  long  head  that  predicts  the  move- 
ments of  aught  depending  on  Mrs.  Buller.  .  .  .  This  accursed  Schil- 
ler is  not  finished  yet.  Patience,  patience;  or,  rather,  fortitude  and 
action,  for  patience  will  not  do.  ...  It  is  impossible  for  anything 
to  be  more  stagnant  and  monotonous  than  our  life  here  is.  We  are 
all  very  agreeable  together,  but  there  is  no  new  topic  among  us;  and 
now,  grouse-shooting  having  failed,  the  good  people  are  weary  of 
their  abode  here.  Two  or  three  squires  of  the  neighborhood  have 


120  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

looked  in  upon  us  of  late,  but  their  minds  are  what  Pump  Sandy 
calls  a  'vaaccum.'  Natter  and  airt  working  together  have  rendered 
them  dull.  We  had  the  other  night  a  Sir  John  something — I  forget 
what — perhaps  Ogilvie — 'one  of  the  numerous  baronets  of  the  age,' 
as  Arthur  Buller  described  him.  Thurtell  being  hanged  last  week, 
we  grew  duller  than  ever,  till  yesterday  Mrs.  Buller  turned  off  all 
the  servants  except  two  at  one  svoop.  This  keeps  up  our  hearts  for 
the  time.  On  the  whole,  however,  I  have  been  happier  than  I  usu- 
ally was  throughout  the  summer  and  autumn.  My  health,  I  think, 
is  little  worse  or  better  than  it  was;  but  I  have  the  prospect  of  speedy 
deliverance,  and  my  mind  has  been  full,  disagreeably  so  often,  of 
this  miserable  Schiller." 

He  was  looking  forward  to  London,  though  far  from  sharing  the 
enthusiastic  expectations  which  Irving  had  formed  for  him.  Irving, 
it  seems,  had  imagined  that  his  friend  had  but  to  present  himself 
before  the  great  world  to  carry  it  by  storm  as  he  had  himself  done, 
and  when  they  met  in  the  autumn  had  told  him  so.  Carlyle  was 
under  no  such  illusion. 

"We  spoke  about  this  project  of  his  and  my  share  in  it  [he  wrote], 
but  could  come  to  no  conclusion.  He  figured  out  purposes  of  un- 
speakable profit  to  me.  He  seemed  to  think  that,  if  set  down  in 
London  streets,  some  strange  development  of  genius  would  take 
place  in  me;  that  by  conversing  with  Coleridge  and  the  Opium-eater 
I  should  find  out  new  channels  of  speculation  and  soon  learn  to 
speak  with  tongues.  There  is  but  a  very  small  degree  of  truth  in 
all  this.  Of  genius  (bless  the  mark!)  I  never  imagined  in  the  most 
lofty  humors  that  I  possessed  beyond  the  smallest  possible  fraction ; 
and  this  fraction,  be  it  little  or  less,  can  only  be  turned  to  account 
by  rigid  and  stern  perseverance  through  long  years  of  labor,  in  Lon- 
don as  any  other  spot  in  the  universe.  Unrelenting  perseverance, 
stubborn  effort,  is  the  remedy.  Help  cometh  not  from  the  hills  or 
valleys.  My  own  poor  arm,  weak  and  shackled  as  it  is,  must  work 
out  my  deliverance,  or  I  am  forever  captive  and  in  bonds.  Irving 
said  I  had  none  to  love  or  reverence  in  Scotland.  Kind,  simple 
Irving.  I  did  not  tell  him  of  the  hearts  in  Scotland  I  will  love  till 
my  own  has  ceased  to  feel,  whose  warm,  pure,  and  generous  affection 
I  would  not  exchange  for  the  maudlin  sympathy  of  all  the  peers  and 
peeresses  and  prim  saints  and  hypochondriacal  old  women  of  either 
sex  in  the  creation.  I  told  him  that  love  concentred  on  a  few  ob- 
jects, or  a  single  one,  was  like  a  river  flowing  within  its  appointed 
banks,  calm,  clear,  rejoicing  in  its  course.  Diffused  over  many,  it 
was  like  that  river  spread  abroad  upon  a  province,  stagnant,  shallow, 
cold  and  profitless.  He  puckered  up  his  face  into  various  furrowy 
peaks  at  this  remark,  and  talked  about  the  Devil  and  universal  be- 
nevolence, reproving  me  withal  because  I  ventured  to  laugh  at  the 
pretensions  of  the  Devil." 

The  Bullers  went  at  last.  Carlyle  returned  to  his  lodgings  at  Edin- 
burgh, finished  his  "  Schiller,"  and  was  busy  translating  the  last  chap- 
ters of  "Meister"  while  the  first  were  being  printed.  Miss  Welsh 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  121 

came  into  the  city  to  stay  with  a  friend.  They  met  and  quarrelled. 
She  tormented  her  lover  till  he  flung  out  of  the  room,  banging  the 
door  behind  him.  A  note  of  penitence  followed.  "I  declare," she 
said,  "I  am  very  much  of  Mr.  Kemp's  way  of  thinking,  that  certain 
persons  are  possessed  of  devils  at  the  present  time.  Nothing  short 
of  a  devil  could  have  tempted  me  to  torment  you  and  myself  as  I 
did  on  that  unblessed  day."  There  was  no  engagement  between 
them,  and  under  existing  circumstances  there  was  to  be  none;  but 
she  shared  Irving's  conviction  that  Carlyle  had  but  to  be  known  to 
spring  to  fame  and  fortune ;  and  his  fortune,  as  soon  as  it  was  made, 
she  AVQS  willing  to  promise  to  share  with  him.  Strict  secrecy  was  of 
course  desired.  Her  mother  and  his  mother  were  alone  admitted  to 
the  great  mystery;  but  the  "sorrows  of  Teufelsdrockh,"  bodily  and 
mental,  were  forgotten  for  at  least  three  months. 

To  James  Carlyle,  MainliiU. 

"3  Moray  Street:  April  2, 1824. 

"My  dear  Father, — I  feel  thankful  to  learn  that  you  are  still  in 
moderate  health,  having  little  to  complain  of  except  the  weariness  of 
increasing  years,  and  being  supported  under  the  feeling  of  this  by 
such  comforts  as  it  has  been  your  care  in  life  to  lay  up.  To  all  men 
journeying  through  the  wilderness  of  the  world  religion  is  an  inex- 
haustible spring  of  nourishment  and  consolation;  the  thorns  and 
flinty  places  of  our  path  become  soft  when  we  view  them  as  leading 
to  an  everlasting  city,  where  sorrow  and  sin  shall  be  alike  excluded. 
To  a  religious  man,  and  to  a  mere  worldling,  the  frailties  of  age 
speak  in  very  different  tones :  to  the  last  they  are  the  judgment  voice 
that  warns  him  to  an  awful  reckoning,  a  dark  and  dreary  change; 
to  the  first  they  are  kind  assurances  of  a  father  that  a  place  of  rest 
is  made  ready  where  the  weary  shall  find  refreshment  after  all  their 
toils. 

"Judging  from  your  years  and  past  and  present  health,  I  expect 
that  we  shall  yet  be  all  spared  together  for  a  long,  long  season,  shall 
live  and  see  good  here  below.  But  it  gives  me  real  pleasure  to  know 
that  you  have  such  approved  resources  against  the  worst  that  can 
befall.  I  often  think  of  death,  as  all  reasonable  creatures  must ;  but 
with  such  prospects  there  is  little  in  it  to  be  feared.  I  have  many  a 
time  felt  that  without  the  expectation  of  it  life  would  be  in  its  bright- 
est station  a  burden  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  But  these  are  topics  too 
serious  for  this  light  handling.  "We  are  in  the  hands  of  an  all-mer- 
ciful Father.  Let  us  live  with  hope  in  him,  and  try  to  fill  rightly 
the  parts  he  has  assigned  us.  Here  is  an  anchor  of  the  soul  both 
sure  and  steadfast.  By  this  let  us  abide,  and  vex  ourselves  with  no 
needless  fear. 

"Jack,  poor  Jack!  I  feel  convinced  is  going  to  make  a  figure  yet; 
he  inherits  a  good  head  and  an  honest  heart  from  his  parents,  and 
no  bad  habit  of  any  kind  has  perverted  these  invaluable  gifts.  His 
only  faults  at  present  are  his  inexperience  and  the  very  excess  of  his 
good  qualities.  Our  only  subject  of  disagreement  is  the  relative  im- 
portance of  worldly  comforts  and  mental  wealth.  Jack  decides,  as 


122  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

a  worthy  fellow  of  twenty  always  will  decide,  that  mere  external 
rank  and  convenience  are  nothing;  the  dignity  of  the  mind  is  all  in 
all.  I  argue  as  every  reasonable  man  of  twenty-eight,  that  this  is 
poetry  in  part,  which  a  few  years  will  mix  pretty  largely  with  prose. 
And  there  we  differ  and  chop  logic,  an  art  for  which  Jack  has  been 
famous  from  his  very  cradle.  Sometimes  I  make  free  to  settle  him 
with  your  finisher,  '  Thou  natura}  thou !'  But  on  the  whole  he  is 
getting  more  rational.  His  jolly  presence  has  been  of  no  small  ben- 
efit to  myself  on  many  sad  occasions.  I  have  often  absolutely  won- 
dered at  the  patience  with  which  he  has  borne  my  black  humors, 
when  bad  health  and  disturbance  vexed  me  too  much.  He  is  cer- 
tainly a  prime  honest  'Lord  Moon,'1  with  all  his  faults." 

Carlyle  did  not  stay  long  in  Edinburgh.  He  remained  only  till 
he  had  settled  his  business  arrangements  with  Boyd,  his  publisher, 
and  then  went  home  to  Mainhill  to  finish  his  translation  of  "Meis- 
ter"  there.  He  was  to  receive  1801.  on  publication  for  the  first  edi- 
tion. If  a  second  edition  was  called  for,  Boyd  was  to  pay  him  2501. 
for  a  thousand  copies,  and  after  that  the  book  was  to  be  Carlyle's 
own.  "Any  way,  I  am  paid  sufficiently  for  my  labors,"  he  said. 
"  Am  I  a  genius?  I  was  intended  for  a  horse-dealer,  rather."  The 
sheets  of  "Meister"  were  sent  to  Haddington  as  they  were  printed. 
Miss  Welsh  refused  to  be  interested  in  it,  and  thought  more  of  the 
money  which  Carlyle  was  making  than  of  the  great  Goethe  and  his 
novel.  Carlyle  admitted  that  she  had  much  to  say  for  her  opinion. 

"There  is  not  [he  said],  properly  speaking,  the  smallest  particle 
of  historical  interest  in  it  except  what  is  connected  with  Mignon, 
and  this  you  cannot  fully  see  till  near  the  very  end.  Meister  himself 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  greatest  ganacJies  that  ever  was  created  by  quill 
and  ink.  I  am  going  to  write  a  fierce  preface  disclaiming  all  con- 
cern with  the  literary  or  the  moral  merit  of  the  work,  grounding  my 
claims  to  recompense  or  toleration  on  the  fact  that  I  have  accurately 
copied  a  striking  portrait  of  Goethe's  mind — the  strangest,  and  in 
many  points  the  greatest,  now  extant.  What  a  work !  Bushels  of 
dust  and  straw  and  feathers,  with  here  and  there  a  diamond  of  the 
purest  water." 

Carlyle  was  very  happy  at  this  time  at  Mainhill.  He  had  found 
work  that  he  could  do,  and  had  opened,  as  it  seemed,  successfully 
his  literary  career.  The  lady  whom  he  had  so  long  worshipped  had 
given  him  hopes  that  his  devotion  might  be  rewarded.  She  had  de- 
clined to  find  much  beauty  even  in  Mignon;  but  she  might  say  what 
she  pleased  now  without  disturbing  him. 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"Mainhill:  April  15. 

"  So  you  laugh  at  my  venerated  Goethe  and  my  Hcrzen's  Kind 
poor  little  Mignon.  Oh,  the  hardness  of  man's,  and  still  more  of 

1  Name  by  wliicb  John  Carlyle  went  iu  the  family  from  the  breadth  of  his  faca. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  123 

woman's,  heart!  If  you  were  not  lost  to  all  true  feeling  your  eyes 
would  be  a  fountain  of  tears  in  the  perusing  of  'Meister.'  Have 
you  really  no  pity  for  the  hero,  or  the  Count,  or  the  Frau  Melina,  or 
thilina,  or  the  Manager?  Well,  it  cannot  be  helped.  I  must  not 
quarrel  with  you.  Do  what  you  like.  Seriously,  you  are  right 
about  the  book.  It  is  worth  next  to  nothing  as  a  novel.  Except 
Mignon,  who  will  touch  you  yet,  perhaps,  there  is  no  person  in  it 
one  has  any  care  about.  But  for  its  wisdom,  its  eloquence,  its  wit, 
and  even  for  its  folly  and  its  dulness,  it  interests  me  much.far  more 
the  second  time  of  reading  than  it  did  the  first.  I  have  not  got  as 
many  ideas  from  any  book  for  six  years.  You  will  like  Goethe  bet- 
ter ten  years  hence  than  you  do  at  present.  It  is  pity  the  man  were 
not  known  among  us.  The  English  have  begun  to  speak  about  him 
of  late  years,  but  no  light  has  yet  been  thrown  upon  him ;  '  no  light, 
but  only  darkness  visible.'  The  syllables  of  Goethe  excite  an  idea 
as  vague  and  monstrous  as  the  words  Gorgon  or  Chimera. 

"It  would  do  you  good  to  see  with  what  regularity  I  progress  in 
translating.  Clock-work  is  scarcely  steadier.  Nothing  do  I  allow 
to  interfere  with  me.  My  movements  might  be  almost  calculated 
like  the  moon's.  It  is  not  unpleasant  work,  nor  is  it  pleasant.  Orig- 
inal composition  is  ten  times  as  laborious.  It  is  an  agitating,  fiery, 
consuming  business,  when  your  heart  is  in  it.  I  can  easily  conceive 
a  man  writing  the  soul  out  of  him — writing  till  it  evaporate  like  the 
snuff  of  a  farthing  candle  when  the  matter  interests  him  properly. 
I  always  recoil  from  again  engaging  with  it.  But  this  present  busi- 
ness is  cool  and  quiet.  One  feels  over  it  as  a  shoemaker  does  when 
he  sees  the  leather  gathering  into  a  shoe — as  any  mortal  does  when 
he  sees  the  activity  of  his  mind  expressing  itself  in  some  external 
material  shape.  You  are  facetious  about  my  mine  of  gold.  It  has 
often  struck  me  as  the  most  accursed  item  in  men's  lot  that  they  had 
to  toil  for  filthy  lucre;  but  I  am  not  sure  now  that  it  is  not  the  ill-best 
way  it  could  have  been  arranged.  Me  it  would  make  happy  at  least 
for  half  a  year,  if  I  saw  the  certain  prospect  before  me  of  making 
500/.  per  annum.  A  pampered  Lord — e.  g.,  Byron — would  turn  with 
loathing  from  a  pyramid  of  ingots.  I  may  be  blessed  in  this  way:  he 
never.  Let  us  be  content. 

' '  It  would  edify  you  much  to  see  my  way  of  life  here — how  I 
write  and  ride  and  delve  in  the  garden  and  muse  on  things  new  and 
old.  On  the  whole  I  am  moderately  happy.  There  is  rough  sub- 
stantial plenty  here.  For  me  there  is  heartfelt  kindness  in  the  breast 
of  every  living  thing,  from  the  cur  that  vaults  like  a  kangaroo  when- 
ever he  perceives  me,  and  the  pony  that  prances  when  he  gets  me  on 
Ms  back,  up  to  the  sovereign  heads  of  the  establishment.  Better  is 
a  dinner  of  herbs  with  peace,  than  a  stalled  ox  with  contention. 
Better  is  affection  in  the  smoke  of  a  turf  cottage  than  indifference 
amidst  the  tapestries  of  palaces. 

"I  am  often  very  calm  and  quiet.  I  delight  to  see  these  old 
mountains  lying  in  the  clear  sleep  of  twilight,  stirless  as  death,  pure 
as  disembodied  spirits,  or  floating  like  cerulean  islands,  while  the 
white  vapors  of  the  morning  have  hidden  all  the  lower  earth. 

"They  are  my  own  mountains.  Skiddaw  and  Helvellyn,  with 
their  snowy  cowls  among  their  thousand  azure  brethren,  are  more 


134  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

to  me  than  St.  Gothard  and  Mont  Blanc.  Hartfell  and  Whitecombe 
raise  their  bald  and  everlasting  heads  into  my  native  sky,  and  far 
beyond  them,  as  I  often  picture,  are  Jane  and  her  mother,  sometimes 
thinking  of  me,  cheering  this  dull  earth  for  me  with  a  distant  spot 
of  life  and  kindliness. .  .  .  But,  bless  me !  the  sweet  youth  is  grow- 
ing quite  poetical.  C'estassez." 

In  this  mood  Carlyle  heard  of  the  end  of  Lord  Byron.  He  had 
spoken  slightingly  of  Byron  in  his  last  letter;  he  often  spoke  in  the 
name  tone  in  his  own  later  years ;  but  he  allowed  no  one  else  to  take 
the  same  liberties.  Perhaps  in  his  heart  he  felt  at  fourscore  much 
what  he  wrote  when  the  news  came  from  Missolonghi.  Both  he 
and  Miss  Welsh  were  equally  affected.  She  wrote,  ' '  I  was  told  it 
all  alone  in  a  room  full  of  people.  If  they  had  said  the  sun  or  the 
raoon  was  gone  out  of  the  heavens,  it  could  not  have  struck  me  with 
the  idea  of  a  more  awful  and  dreary  blank  in  the  creation  than  the 
words, ' Byron  is  dead.'" 

Carlyle  answered — 

"  Poor  Byron!  alas,  poor  Byron!  the  news  of  his  death  came  upon 
my  heart  like  a  mass  of  lead;  and  yet,  the  thought  of  it  sends  a  pain- 
ful twinge  through  all  my  being,  as  if  I  had  lost  a  brother.  O  God! 
that  so  many  souls  of  mud  and  clay  should  fill  up  their  base  exist- 
ence to  its  utmost  bound,  and  this  the  noblest  spirit  in  Europe 
should  sink  before  half  his  course  was  run.  Late  so  full  of  fire  and 
generous  passion  and  proud  purposes;  and  now  forever  dumb  and 
cold.  Poor  Byron!  and  but  a  young  man,  still  struggling  amidst 
the  perplexities  and  sorrows  and  aberrations  of  a  mind  not  arrived 
at  maturity,  or  settled  in  its  proper  place  in  life.  Had  he  been 
spared  to  the  age  of  threescore  and  ten,  what  might  he  not  have 
done!  what  might  he  not  have  been!  But  we  shall  hear  his  voice 
no  more.  I  dreamed  of  seeing  him  and  knowing  him;  but  the  cur- 
tain of  everlasting  night  has  hid  him  from  our  eyes.  We  shall  go 
to  him ;  he  shall  not  return  to  us.  Adieu.  There  is  a  blank  in  your 
heart  and  a  blank  in  mine  since  this  man  passed  away." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
A.D.  1824.    ^ET.  29. 

THE  time  for  Carlyle's  departure  for  London  had  now  arrived. 
A  letter  came  from  Mrs.  Buller  begging  his  immediate  presence. 
' '  Meister  "  was  finished  and  paid  for.  A  presentation  copy  was  se- 
cured for  Mainhill,  and  there  was  no  more  reason  for  delay.  The 
expedition  was  an  epoch  in  Carlyle's  life.  There  was,  perhaps,  no 
one  of  his  age  in  Scotland  or  England  who  knew  so  much  and  had 
seen  so  little.  He  had  read  enormously — history,  poetry,  philoso- 
phy; the  whole  range  of  modern  literature — French,  German,  and 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  125 

English — was  more  familiar  to  him,  perhaps,  than  to  any  man  living 
of  his  own  age ;  while  the  digestive  power  by  which  all  this  spiritual 
food  had  been  digested  and  converted  into  intellectual  tissue  was 
equally  astonishing.  And  yet  all  this  time  he  had  never  seen  any 
town  larger  than  Glasgow,  or  any  cultivated  society  beyond  what 
he  had  fallen  in  with  at  occasional  dinners  with  Brewster,  or  with 
the  Bullers  at  Kinnaird.  London  had  hovered  before  him  rather  as 
a  place  of  doubtful  possibilities  than  of  definite  hope.  The  san- 
guine Irving  would  have  persuaded  him  that  it  would  open  its  arms 
to  a  new  man  of  genius.  Carlyle  knew  better.  He  had  measured 
his  own  capabilities.  He  was  painfully  aware  that  they  were  not  of 
the  sort  which  would  win  easy  recognition,  and  that  if  he  made  his 
way  at  all  it  would  be  slowly,  and  after  desperate  and  prolonged  ex- 
ertion. He  would  never  go  to  bed  unknown  and  wake  to  find  him- 
self famous.  His  own  disposition  was  rather  towards  some  quiet 
place  in  Scotland,  where  with  fresh  air  and  plain  food  he  could  pos- 
sess his  soul  in  peace  and  work  undisturbed  and  unconfused.  Still 
London  was  to  be  seen  and  measured.  He  was  to  go  by  sea  from 
Leith,  and  for  the  first  week  or  two  after  his  arrival  he  was  to  be 
Irving's  guest  at  Pentonville.  A  few  happy  days  were  spent  at 
Haddington,  and  on  Sunday  morning,  June  5,  he  sailed — sailed  lit- 
erally. Steamers  had  begun  to  run,  but  were  not  yet  popular;  and 
the  old  yacht,  safe  if  tedious,  was  still  the  usual  mode  of  transit  for 
ordinary  travellers.  His  fellow-passengers  were  a  Sir  David  Innes; 
a  Captain  Smith  from  Linlithgow;  a  M.  Dubois,  land-steward  to 
Lord  Bute;  and  two  ladies  who  never  left  their  cabins.  This  is 
Carlyle's  account  of  his  voyage : 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

' '  I  had  the  most  melancholy  sail  to  London.  Cross  winds,  storms, 
and,  what  was  ten  times  worse,  dead  calms,  and  the  stupidest  society 
in  nature.  Sir  David  Innes,  if,  indeed,  he  be  a  knight  of  flesh  and 
blood,  and  not  a  mere  shadowy  personification  of  dulness,  snored 
assiduously  beside  me  all  night,  and  talked  the  most  polite  inepti- 
tudes all  day.  He  had  a  large,  long  head  like  a  sepulchral  urn. 
His  face,  pock -pitted,  hirsute,  and  bristly,  was  at  once  vast  and 
hatchet -shaped.  He  stood  for  many  hours  together  with  his  left 
hand  laid  upon  the  boat  on  the  middle  of  the  deck,  and  the  thumb 
of  his  right  hand  stuck  firmly  with  its  point  on  the  hip  joint ;  his 
large  blue  and  rheumy  eyes  gazing  on  vacancy,  the  very  image  of 
thick-lipped  misery.  Captain  Smith  was  of  quite  an  opposite  spe- 
cies, brisk,  lean,  whisking,  smart  of  speech,  and  quick  in  bowing, 
but  if  possible  still  more  inane  than  Dulness.  .  .  .  These  two,  Dul- 
ness and  Inanity,  contrived  to  tell  me  in  the  course  of  the  voyage 
nearly  all  the  truisms  which  natural  and  moral  science  have  yet  en- 
riched the  world  withal.  They  demonstrated  to  me  that  sea-sick- 
ness was  painful,  that  sea-captains  ought  to  be  expert,  that  London 


126  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

was  a  great  city,  that  the  Turks  eat  opium,  that  the  Irish  were  dis- 
contented, that  brandy  would  intoxicate.  Oh,  I  thought  I  should 
have  given  up  the  ghost !  M.  Dubois,  a  Strasburger,  Lord  Bute's 
factotum,  with  his  flageolet,  his  'Vaillant  Troubadour,'  and  his 
'Es  hatt'  ein  Bauer  ein  schOnes  Weib,'  alone  contributed  to  save 
me.  I  laughed  at  him  every  day  about  an  hour.  On  Sunday  do 
you  suppose  I  was  very  gay?  The  Bass  was  standing  in  sight  all 
day,  and  I  recollected  where  the  Sunday  before  I  had  been  sitting 
beside  you  in  peace  and  quietness  at  home!  But  time  and  hours 
wear  out  the  roughest  day.  Next  Friday  at  noon  we  were  winding 
slowly  through  the  forest  of  masts  in  the  Thames  up  to  our  station 
at  Tewer  Wharf.  The  giant  bustle,  the  coal-heavers,  the  bargemen, 
the  black  buildings,  the  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  sounds  and 
movements  of  that  monstrous  harbor  formed  the  grandest  object  I 
had  ever  witnessed.  One  man  seems  a  drop  in  the  ocean  :  you  feel 
annihilated  in  the  immensity  of  that  heart  of  all  the  earth. " 

Carlyle  has  described  in  his  "Reminiscences"  his  arrival  in  Lon- 
don, his  reception  in  Irving's  house,  and  his  various  adventures  dur- 
ing his  English  visit.  When  written  evidence  rises  before  us  of  what 
we  said  and  did  in  early  life,  we  find,  generally,  that  memory  has 
played  false  to  us,  and  has  so  shaped  and  altered  past  scenes  that 
our  actions  have  become  legendary  even  to  ourselves.  Goethe  call- 
ed his  autobiography  "Wahrheit  und  Dichtung,"  being  aware  that 
facts  stand  in  our  recollection  as  trees,  houses,  mountains,  rivers 
stand  in  the  landscape  ;  that  lights  and  shadows  change  their  places 
between  sunrise  and  sunset,  and  that  the  objects  are  grouped  into 
new  combinations  as  the  point  of  vision  alters.  But  none  of  these 
involuntary  freaks  of  memory  can  be  traced  in  Carlyle's  "Reminis- 
cences." After  two-and-forty  years  the  scenes  and  persons  which 
he  describes  remain  as  if  photographed  precisely  as  they  are  to  be 
found  in  his  contemporary  letters.  Nothing  is  changed.  The  im- 
ages stand  as  they  were  first  printed,  the  judgments  are  unmodified, 
and  are  often  repeated  in  the  same  words.  His  matured  and  epito- 
mized narrative  may  thus  be  trusted  as  an  entirely  authentic  record 
of  the  scenes  which  are  recorded  at  fuller  length  in  the  accounts 
which  he  sent  at  the  time  to  his  family  and  friends.  With  Irving 
he  was  better  pleased  than  he  expected.  Uneasiness  Carlyle  had  felt 
about  him — never,  indeed,  that  the  simplicity  and  truth  of  Irving's 
disposition  could  be  impaired  or  tarnished,  but  that  he  might  be 
misled  and  confused  by  the  surroundings  in  which  he  was  to  find 
him.  "  The  Orator,"  he  wrote,  "is  mended  since  I  saw  him  at  Dun- 
keld.  He  begins  to  see  that  his  honors  are  not  supernatural,  and  his 
honest,  practical  warmth  of  heart  is  again  becoming  the  leading  feat- 
ure of  his  character."  He  was  thrown  at  once  into  Irving's  circle, 
and  made  acquaintance  with  various  persons  whom  he  had  previ- 
ously heard  celebrated.  Mrs.  Strachey,  Mrs.  Buller's  sister,  he  ad- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  127 

mired  the  most.  Her  husband,  too,  he  met  and  liked,  and  her  niece, 
Miss  Kirkpatrick.  To  Miss  Welsh  he  wrote,  a  few  days  after  his 
arrival : 

"I  have  seen  some  notable  characters.  Mrs.  Montagu1  (do  not 
tremble)  is  a  stately  matron,  with  a  quick  intellect  and  a  taste  for 
exciting  sentiments,  which  two  qualities,  by  dint  of  much  manage- 
ment in  a  lougish  life,  she  has  elaborated  into  the  materials  of  a 
showy,  tasteful,  clear-sighted,  rigid,  and,  I  fancy,  cold  manner  of 
existence,  intended  rather  for  itself  and  being  looked  at  than  for 
being  used  to  any  useful  purpose  in  the  service  of  others.  She 
loves  and  admires  the  Orator  beyond  all  others  :  me  she  seems  to 
like  better  than  I  like  her.  I  have  also  seen  and  scraped  acquaint- 
ance with  Procter — Barry  Cornwall.  He  is  a  slender,  rough-faced, 
palish,  gentle,  languid -looking  man,  of  three  or  four  and  thirty. 
There  is  a  dreamy  mildness  in  his  eye ;  he  is  kind  and  good  in  his 
manners,  and  I  understand  in  his  conduct.  He  is  a  poet  by  the  ear 
and  the  fancy,  but  his  heart  and  intellect  are  not  strong.  He  is  a 
small  poet.  I  am  also  a  nascent  friend  of  Allan  Cunningham's — my 
most  dear,  modest,  kind,  good-humored  Allan.  He  has  his  Annan- 
dale  accent  as  faithfully  as  if  he  had  never  crossed  the  border.  He 
seems  not  to  know  that  he  is  anything  beyond  a  reading  mason. 
Yet  I  will  send  you  his  books  and  tell  you  of  him,  and  you  will  find 
him  a  genius  of  no  common  make.  I  have  also  seen  Thomas  Camp- 
bell. Him  I  like  worst  of  all.  He  is  heartless  as  a  little  Edinburgh 
advocate.  There  is  a  smirk  on  his  face  which  would  befit  a  shopman 
or  an  auctioneer.  His  very  eye  has  the  cold  vivacity  of  a  conceited 
worldling.  His  talk  is  small,  contemptuous,  and  shallow.  The  blue 
frock  and  trousers,  the  eye-glass,  the  wig,  the  very  fashion  of  his  bow, 
proclaim  the  literary  dandy.  His  wife  has  black  eyes,  a  fair  skin, 
a  symmetrical  but  vulgar  face  ;  and  she  speaks  with  that  accursed 
Celtic  accent — a  twang  which  I  never  yet  heard  associated  with  any 
manly  or  profitable  thought  or  sentiment — which  to  me  is  but  the 
symbol  of  Highland  vanity  and  filth  and  famine.  '  Good  heavens !' 
cried  I,  on  coming  out,  '  does  literature  lead  to  this  ?  Shall  I,  too, 
by  my  utmost  efforts  realize  nothing  but  a  stupid  Gaelic  wife,  with 
the  pitiful  gift  of  making  verses,  and  affections  cold  as  those  of  a 
tinker's  cucklie,  with  nothing  to  love  but  my  own  paltry  self  and 
what  belongs  to  it  ?  My  proudest  feelings  rivalled,  surpassed  by 
Lord  Petersham  and  the  whole  population  of  Bond  Street?  God 
forbid  !  Let  me  be  poor  and  wretched  if  it  must  be  so,  but  never, 
never  let  the  holy  feeling  of  affection  leave  me.  Break  my  heart  a 
hundred  times,  but  never  let  it  be  its  own  grave  !'  The  aspect  of 
that  man  jarred  the  music  of  my  mind  for  a  whole  day.  He  prom- 
ised to  invite  me  to  his  first  'literary  dejeuner.'  Curiosity  attracts, 
disgust  repels.  I  know  not  which  will  be  stronger  when  the  day 
arrives.  Perhaps  I  am  hasty  about  Campbell.  Perhaps  I  am  too 
severe.  He  was  my  earliest  favorite.  I  hoped  to  have  found  him 

1  Mrs.  Basil  Montagu,  of  whom  there  is  a  full  account  in  the  "Reminiscences." 
called  by  Irving  "the  noble  lady,"  and  already  known  through  Irving's  letters  to 
Miss  Welsh. 


128  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

different.     Of  Coleridge  and  all  the  other  originals  I  will  not  say  a 
word  at  present.     You  are  sated  and  more." 

Coleridge  naturally  was  an  object  of  more  than  curiosity.  He 
was  then  at  the  height  of  his  fame — poet,  metaphysician,  theologian, 
accomplished,  or  supposed  to  be  accomplished,  in  the  arts  in  which 
Carlyle  was  most  anxious  to  excej.  Carlyle  himself  had  formed  a 
high,  if  not  the  highest,  opinion  of  the  merits  of  Coleridge,  who  was 
now  sitting  up  at  Highgate  receiving  the  homage  of  the  intellectual 
world,  and  pouring  out  floods  of  eloquence  on  all  who  came  to  wor- 
ship in  a  befitting  state  of  mind.  The  befitting  state  was  not  uni- 
versal even  in  those  who  sincerely  loved  the  great  man.  Leigh 
Hunt  and  Lamb  had  sat  one  night  in  the  Highgate  drawing-room 
for  long  hours  listening  to  the  oracle  discoursing  upon  the  Logos. 
Hunt,  as  they  stood  leaning  over  a  style  in  the  moonlight  on  their 
way  home,  said,  "How  strange  that  a  man  of  such  indisputable 
genius  should  talk  such  nonsense  !"  "Why,  you  see,"  said  Lamb, 
stammering,  "  C-c-coleridge  has  so  much  f-f-fun  in  him."  The  fin- 
ished portrait  of  Coleridge  is  found  in  Carlyle's  "Life  of  Sterling." 
The  original  sketch  is  a  letter  of  the  24th  of  June  to  his  brother 
John: 

"I  have  seen  many  curiosities ;  not  the  least  of  them  I  reckon 
Coleridge,  the  Kantian  metaphysician  and  quondam  Lake  poet.  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  our  interview  when  we  meet.  Figure  a  fat, 
flabby,  incurvated  personage,  at  once  short,  rotund,  and  relaxed,  with 
a  watery  mouth,  a  snuffy  nose,  a  pair  of  strange  brown,  timid,  yet 
earnest-looking  eyes,  a  high  tapering  brow,  and  a  great  bush  of  gray 
hair,  and  you  have  some  faint  idea  of  Coleridge.  He  is  a  kind, 
good  soul,  full  of  religion  and  affection  and  poetry  and  animal  mag- 
netism. His  cardinal  sin  is  that  he  wants  mil.  He  has  no  resolu- 
tion. He  shrinks  from  pain  or  labor  in  any  of  its  shapes.  His  very 
attitude  bespeaks  this.  He  never  straightens  his  knee-joints.  He 
stoops  with  his  fat,  ill-shapen  shoulders,  and  in  walking  lie  does  not 
tread,  but  shovel  and  slide.  My  father  would  call  it  'skluiffing.' 
He  is  also  always  busied  to  keep,  by  strong  and  frequent  inhalations, 
the  water  of  his  mouth  from  overflowing,  and  his  eyes  have  a  look 
of  anxious  impotence.  He  wmdd  do  with  all  his  heart,  but  he  knows 
he  dares  not.  The  conversation  of  the  man  is  much  as  I  anticipated 
— a  forest  of  thoughts,  some  true,  many  false,  more  part  dubious,  all 
of  them  ingenious  in  some  degree,  often  in  a  high  degree.  But 
there  is  no  method  in  his  talk :  he  wanders  like  a  man  sailing  among 
many  currents,  whithersoever  his  lazy  mind  directs  him;  and,  what 
is  more  unpleasant,  he  preaches,  or  rather  soliloquizes.  He  cannot 
speak,  he  can  only  tal-k  (so  he  names  it).  Hence  I  found  him  un- 
profitable, even  tedious;  but  we  parted  very  good  friends,  I  promis- 
ing to  go  back  and  see  him  some  evening — a  promise  which  I  fully 
intend  to  keep.  I  sent  him  a  copy  of  'Meister,' about  which  we 
had  some  friendly  talk.  I  reckon  him  a  man  of  great  and  useless 
genius :  a  strange,  not  at  all  a  great  man. " 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  129 

While  Carlyle  was  studying  the  leaders  of  literature  in  London 
with  such  indifferent  satisfaction,  the  family  at  Mainhill  were  busy 
over  his  own  first  book.  Never  had  Goethe's  novel  found  its  way 
into  a  stranger  circle  than  this  rugged,  unlettered  Calvinist  house- 
hold. But  they  had  all  strong  natural  understandings.  Young  and 
old  alike  read  it,  and  in  their  way  appreciated  it,  the  mother  most 
of  all. 

John  Carlyle  to  T/wmas  Carlyle. 

"Mainhill:  June  24. 

"You  did  well  to  send  our  father  the  neckerchief  and  tobacco 
with  the  spluichan,  for  he  was  highly  pleased  at  the  sight  of  them. 
The  shawl,  our  mother  says,  suits  very  well,  though  she  has  no  par- 
ticular need  of  one  at  present.  She  bids  me  tell  you  she  can  never 
repay  you  for  the  kindness  you  have  all  along  shown  her,  and  then 
she  has  advices  about  religion  to  give  you,  the  best  of  gifts  in  her 
estimation  that  she  has  to  offer.  She  is  sitting  here  as  if  under  some 
charm,  reading  'Meister,'  and  has  nearly  got  through  the  second  vol- 
ume. Though  we  are  often  repeating  honest  Hall  Foster's  denounce- 
ment against  readers  of  ' novels,'  she  still  continues  to  persevere.  She 
does  not  relish  the  character  of  the  women,  and  especially  of  Philina: 
'  They  are  so  wanton.'  She  cannot  well  tell  what  it  is  that  interests 
her.  I  defer  till  the  next  time  I  write  to  give  a  full  account  of  the 
impression  it  has  made  upon  us  all,  for  we  have  not  got  it  fairly 
studied  yet.  We  are  unanimous  in  thinking  it  should  succeed." 

The  Bullers  were  still  uncertain  about  their  future  movements. 
One  day  they  were  to  take  a  house  at  Boulogne,  the  next  to  settle  in 
Cornwall,  the  next  to  remain  in  London,  and  send  Carlyle  with  the 
boys  into  the  country.  As  a  temporary  measure,  ten  days  after  his 
arrival  he  and  Charles  found  themselves  located  in  lodgings  at  Kew 
Green,  which  Carlyle  soon  grew  weary  of  and  Charles  Buller  hated ; 
while  Carlyle,  though  he  appreciated,  and  at  times  even  admired, 
Mrs.  Buller's  fine  qualities,  was  not  of  a  temper  to  submit  to  a  wom- 
an's caprices. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Kew  Green:  June  24,  1824. 

"The  Bullers  are  essentially  a  cold  race  of  people.  They  live  in 
the  midst  of  fashion  and  external  show.  They  love  no  living  creat- 
ure. Our  connection,  therefore,  has  to  sit  a  little  loosely.  I  attach 
no  portion  of  my  hopes  or  thoughts  of  affection  towards  them;  they 
none  to  me.  Nevertheless,  I  have  engaged  to  go  with  them  whith- 
ersoever they  list  for  the  next  three  months.  After  that,  with  regard 
to  the  France  project,  I  shall  pause  before  deciding.  Indeed,  so  fit- 
ful 'and  weathercock-like  in  their  proceedings  are  they,  that  it  is  very 
possible  the  whole  scheme  of  Boulogne-sur-Mer  may  be  abandoned 
long  before  the  time  for  trying  it  comes  round.  Meanwhile,  Mrs.  B. 
lias  settled  us  here/or  a  fortnight  only  in  lodgings,  and  we  have  be- 
gun our  studies.  It  is  a  pleasant  village.  We  are  within  a  bow- 


130  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

shot  of  a  Royal  Palace,  close  by  the  south  bank  of  the  Thames, 
about  six  miles  to  the  westward  of  London.  A  village  here  is  not 
what  it  is  with  you.  Here  it  is  a  quantity  of  houses  scattered  over 
a  whole  parish,  each  cluster  connected  with  the  rest  by  lanes  of  trees, 
with  meadows  and  beautiful  greens  interspersed,  sometimes  ponds 
and  lakes  and  hedges  of  roses,  and  commons  with  sheep  and  cuddies 
grazing  on  them.  Many  of  the  houses  belong  to  rich  people,  and 
the  whole  has  a  very  smart  and  pleasing  air.  Such  is  the  village  of 
Kew,  especially  the  Green,  the  part  of  it  which  lies  on  the  south 
side  of  the  river,  connected  by  the  bridge  with  Kew  proper.  We 
form  part  of  the  periphery  of  an  irregular  square,  measuring,  per- 
haps, two  furlongs  in  diagonal,  intersected  with  one  large  and  many 
foot-roads,  and  into  portions  by  thick,  low,  painted  wooden  palings, 
with  breaks  in  it  to  admit  the  freest  ingress  and  egress.  The  parish 
church,  with  its  cluster  of  gravestones,  stands  a  little  to  the  right  of 
our  windows.  Beyond  it  the  north-west  corner  of  the  square  is 
occupied  by  the  Palace  and  the  barracks  of  soldiers.  This,  with  the 
many  barges  and  lighters  of  the  river,  and  the  shady  woods  and 
green  places  all  around,  makes  the  place  very  pretty.  What  is  bet- 
ter, our  lodging  seems  to  be  very  respectable.  I  have  a  good,  clean, 
quiet  bed,  and  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Page,  and  her  pretty  granddaugh- 
ter (sweet  Anne  Page),  almost  become  as  dead  women  every  time  we 
speak  to  them,  so  reverential  are  they  and  so  prompt  to  help." 

Mrs.  Page  was  unlike  the  dames  who  had  driven  Carlyle  so  dis- 
tracted in  Edinburgh,  and  the  contrast  between  the  respectful  man- 
ners of  English  people  and  the  hard  familiarity  of  his  countrywom- 
en struck  him  agreeably.  Time  and  progress  have  done  their  work 
whether  for  good  or  evil,  and  it  would  at  present  be  difficult  to  find 
reverential  landladies  either  at  Kew  Green  or  anywhere  in  the  Brit- 
ish dominions ;  Kew  Green  has  become  vulgarized,  and  the  grace 
has  gone  from  it ;  the  main  points  of  the  locality  can  be  recognized 
from  Carlyle's  picture,  but  cockneys  and  cockney  taste  are  now  in 
possession.  The  suburban  sojourn  came  to  an  early  end,  and  with 
it  Carlyle's  relations  with  Mr.  Buller  and  his  family.  He  describes 
the  close  of  the  connection  in  words  which  did  not  express  his  delib- 
erate feeling.  He  knew  that  he  owed  much  to  Mrs.  Buller's  kind- 
ness; and  her  own  and  Mr.  Buller's  regard  for  him  survived  in  the 
form  of  strong  friendship  to  the  end  of  their  lives.  But  he  was  irri- 
tated at  the  abruptness  with  which  he  conceived  that  he  had  been 
treated.  He  was  proud  and  thin-skinned.  His  next  letter  is  dated 
from  Irving's  house  at  Pentonville,  which  was  again  immediately 
opened  to  him,  and  contains  the  history  of  the  Buller  break-up,  and 
of  a  new  acquaintance  which  was  about  to  take  him  to  Birming- 
ham : 

"4  Myddelton  Terrace,  Pentonville:  July  C,  1824. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  suppose  you  are  not  expectiflg  to  hear  from 
me  so  soon  again,  and  still  less  to  hear  the  news  I  have  got  to  tell 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  131 

you.  The  last  letter  was  dated  from  Kew  Green;  there  will  be  no 
more  of  mine  dated  thence.  Last  time  I  was  complaining  of  the 
irresolute  and  foolish  fluctuations  of  the  Bullers:  I  shall  never  more 
have  reason  to  complain  of  them  and  their  proceedings.  I  am  now 
free  of  them  for  ever  and  a  day.  I  mentioned  the  correspondence 
which  had  taken  place  between  '  the  fair  Titania '  (as  the  Calcutta 
newspapers  called  her)  and  myself  on  the  subject  of  her  hopeful 
son,  and  how  it  was  arranged  that  we  should  live  together  till  Octo- 
ber, and  then  see  about  proceeding  to  Boulogne,  in  France,  or  else 
abandoning  our  present  engagement  altogether.  The  shifting  and 
trotting  about  which  she  managed  with  so  total  a  disregard  to  my 
feelings,  joined  to  the  cold  and  selfish  style  of  the  lady's  general 
proceedings,  had  a  good  deal  disaffected  me ;  and  when,  in  addi- 
tion to  all  this,  I  reflected  that  nothing  permanent  could  result  from 
my  engagement  with  them,  and  considered  the  horrid  weariness  of 
being  in  seclusion  from  all  sense  and  seriousness,  in  the  midst  of 
sickness  on  my  own  part,  mingled  with  frivolous  and  heartless  dis- 
sipation on  theirs,  I  had  well-nigh  silently  determined  not  to  go  to 
Boulogne,  or  even  to  stay  with  the  people  though  they  remained  in 
England.  My  determination  was  called  for  sooner  than  I  had  an- 
ticipated. After  a  week  spent  at  Kew  in  the  most  entire  tedium, 
by  which  my  health  had  begun  to  deteriorate  rapidly,  but  which  I 
determined  to  undergo  without  repining  till  October,  Mrs.  Buller 
writes  me  a  letter  signifying  that  they  must  know  directly  whether 
I  would  go  with  them  to  France  or  not ;  that  if  I  could  not,  the  boy 
might  be  sent  to  prepare  for  Cambridge;  and  that  if  I  could,  we  must 
instantly  decamp  for  Royston,  a  place  in  Hertfordshire  about  fifty 
miles  oft.  I  replied  that  the  expected  time  for  deciding  was  not  yet 
arrived,  but  that  if  they  required  an  immediate  decision,  of  course 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  count  on  my  declining  the  offer. 
Next  day  we  met  in  town  by  appointment;  there  seemed  to  be  the 
best  understanding  in  the  wwld  betwixt  us;  it  was  agreed  that  I 
should  quit  them — an  arrangement  not  a  little  grievous  to  old  Buller 
and  his  son,  but  nowise  grievous  to  his  wife,  one  of  whose  whims 
was  Cambridge  University,  in  which  whim,  so  long  as  she  persists, 
she  will  be  ready  to  stake  her  whole  soul  on  the  fulfilment  of  it. 
Buller  offered  me  twenty  pounds  for  my  trouble.  With  an  excess 
of  generosity  which  I  am  not  quite  reconciled  to  since  I  thought  of 
it  maturely,  I  pronounced  it  to  be  too  much,  and  accepted  of  ten. 
The  old  gentleman  and  I  shook  hands  with  dry  eyes.  Mrs.  Buller 
gave  me  one  of  those  '  Good-mornings '  with  which  fashionable  peo- 
ple think  it  right  to  part  with  friends  and  foes  alike.  Charlie  was 
in  a  passion  of  sadness  and  anger,  to  be  forgotten  utterly  in  three 
hours,  and  I  went  my  way  and  they  saw  me  no  more.  Such  is  my 
conclusion  with  the  Bullers.  I  feel  glad  that  I  have  done  with  them; 
their  family  was  ruining  my  mind  and  body.  I  was  selling  the  very 
quintessence  of  my  spirit  for  2QQI.  a  year.  Twelve  months  spent  at 
Boulogne  in  the  midst  of  drivelling  and  discomfort  would  have  add- 
ed little  to  my  stock  of  cash,  and  fearfully  diminished  my  remnant 
of  spirits,  health,  and  affection.  The  world  must  be  fronted  some 
time,  soon  as  good  as  ityne!  Adieu,  therefore,  to  ancient  dames  of 
quality — that  flaunting,  painting,  patching,  nervous,  vaporish,  jig- 


132  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ging,  skimming,  scolding,  race  of  mortals.1  Their  clothes  are  silk, 
their  manners  courtly,  their  hearts  are  kipper.  I  have  left  the  Bullers 
twelve  months  sooner  than  they  would  have  parted  with  me  had  I 
liked.  I  am  glad  that  we  have  parted  in  friendship;  very  glad  that 
we  are  parted  at  all.  She  invited  me  to  a  rout  (a  grand,  fashionable 
affair)  next  night.  I  did  not  go  a  foot  length.  I  want  to  have  no 
farther  trade  with  her  or  hers,  at  least  except  in  the  way  of  cold 
civility;  for  as  to  what  affection  means  I  do  not  believe  there  is  one 
of  them  that  even  guesses  what  it  means.  Her  sister,  indeed  (Mrs. 
Strachey),2  likes  me;  but  she  is  as  opposite  as  day  from  night. 

"Thus  you  see,  my  dear  mother,  I  am  as  it  were  once  more  upon 
the  waters.  I  got  my  trunks  hither  last  night,  after  having  kept 
them  just  one  week  at  Kew,  and  paid  fourteen  shillings  for  the  trip 
to  and  fro.  So  much  for  having  a  spirited  commander  like  Titania. 
I  am  settled  with  Irving,  who  presses  me  to  stay  with  him  all  win- 
ter. That  I  certainly  will  not  do,  though  I  honor  the  kindness  that 
prompts  even  an  invitation  of  this  sort.  Irving  and  I  are  grown 
very  intimate  again,  and  have  had  great  talking  matches  about  many 
things.  He  speaks  in  glorious  language  of  the  wonderful  things  I 
am  to  accomplish  here,  but  my  own  views  are  much  more  moderate. 

"Meanwhile  let  me  assure  you  that  I  have  not  been  so  happy  for 
a  long  while.  I  am  at  no  loss  for  plans  of  proceeding,  nor  is  the 
future  overcast  before  me  with  any  heavy  clouds  that  I  should  feel 
or  fear.  I  am  once  more  free ;  and  I  must  be  a  weak  genius  indeed 
if  I  cannot  find  an  honest  living  in  the  exercise  of  my  faculties, 
independently  of  favor  from  any  one.  My  movements  for  a  while 
must  be  rather  desultory.  My  first  is  to  be  northward.  Among  the 
worthy  persons  whom  I  have  met  with  here  is  a  Mr.  Badams,  a  friend 
of  Irving's,  a  graduate  in  medicine,  though  his  business  is  in  chemi- 
cal manufactures  in  Birmingham,  where  I  understand  he  is  rapidly 
realizing  a  fortune.  This  man,  one  of  the  most  sensible,  clear-head- 
ed persons  I  have  ever  met  with,  seems  also  one  of  the  kindest.  Af- 
ter going  about  for  a  day  or  two  talking  about  pictures  and  stomach 
disorders,  in  the  cure  of  which  he  is  famous,  and  from  which  he  once 
suffered  four  years  of  torment  in  person,  what  does  the  man  do  but 
propose  that  I  should  go  up  to  Birmingham  and  live  for  a  month 
with  him,  that  he  might  find  out  the  make  of  me  and  prescribe  for 
my  unfortunate  inner  man.  I  have  consented  to  go  with  him.  I 
understand  he  keeps  horses,  etc. ,  and  is  really  the  frank  hospitable 
fellow  he  seems.  Of  his  skill  in  medicine  I  augur  favorably  from 
his  general  talent,  and  from  the  utter  contempt  in  which  he  holds  all 
sorts  of  drugs  as  applied  to  persons  in  my  situation.  Regimen  and 
exercise  are  his  specifics,  assisted  by  as  little  gentlest  medicine  as 
possible;  on  the  whole  I  think  I  never  had  such  a  chance  for  the 
recovery  of  health.  I  intend  to  set  off  in  about  a  week.  There  is 
a  fine  coach  that  starts  from  our  very  door,  and  carries  one  up  be- 

1  Poor  Mrs.  Buller!  a  year  back  "one  of  the  most  fascinating  women  he  had  ever 
met."    She  was  about  forty,  and  probably  had  never  flaunted,  painted,  or  patched  in 
her  life. 

2  Of  this  lady  he  says  in  another  letter:  "  My  chief  favorite  is  Mrs.  Strachey.  a  sister 
of  Mrs.  Buller;  but  she  is  serious  and  earnest  and  religious  and  iillertiniiate.  while  (ho 
other  is  light,  giddy,  vail),  and  heartless,     bhe  and  I  will  be  sworn  friends  by-aiid-by." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  133 

tween  seven  in  the  morning  and  seven  at  night  for  one  guinea.  I 
am  going  to  take  books  and  read  and  ride  and  stroll  about  Birming- 
ham, and  employ  or  amuse  myself  as  seemeth  best.  Sometimes 
I  think  of  beginning  another  translation,  sometimes  of  setting  about 
some  original  work.  '  Meister, '  I  understand,  is  doing  very  well. 
Jack  tells  me  you  are  reading  'Meister.'  This  surprises  me.  If  I 
did  not  recollect  your  love  for  me,  I  should  not  be  able  to  account 
for  it. " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A.D.  1824.     JET.  29. 

CARLYLE  was  now  once  more  his  own  master,  adrift  from  all 
engagements  which  made  his  time  the  property  of  others,  and  with- 
out means  or  prospect  of  support  save  what  his  pen  could  earn  for 
him.  Miss  Welsh  had  expected  with  too  sanguine  ignorance  that 
when  his  first  writings  had  introduced  him  to  the  world,  the  world 
would  rush  forward  to  his  assistance  ;  that  he  would  be  seized  upon 
for  some  public  employment,  or  at  worst  would  be  encouraged  by  a 
sinecure.  The  world  is  in  no  such  haste  to  recognize  a  man  of 
original  genius.  Unless  he  runs  with  the  stream,  or  with  some  one 
of  the  popular  currents,  every  man's  hand  is  at  first  against  him. 
Rivals  challenge  his  pretensions ;  his  talents  are  denied ;  his  aims 
are  ridiculed ;  he  is  tried  in  the  furance  of  criticism,  and  it  is  well 
that  it  should  be  so.  A  man  does  not  know  himself  what  is  in  him 
till  he  has  been  tested ;  far  less  can  others  know ;  and  the  metal 
which  glitters  most  on  the  outside  most  often  turns  out  to  be  but 
pinchbeck.  A  longer  and  more  bitter  apprenticeship  lay  upon 
Carlyle  than  even  he,  little  sanguine  as  he  was,  might  at  this  time 
have  anticipated.  His  papers  on  Schiller  had  been  well  received 
and  were  to  be  collected  into  a  volume ;  a  contemptuous  review 
of  "Meister"  by  De  Quincey  appeared  in  the  London  Magazine, 
but  the  early  sale  was  rapid.  He  had  been  well  paid  for  the  first 
specimens  of  jewels  which  he  had  brought  out  of  the  German 
mines.  An  endless  vein  remained  unwrought,  and  the  field  was  for 
the  present  his  own.  Thus  he  went  down  to  Birmingham  to  his 
friend  with  a  light  heart,  anxious  chiefly  about  his  health,  and  con- 
vinced that  if  he  could  mend  his  digestion  all  else  would  be  easy 
for  him.  Birmingham  with  its  fiery  furnaces  and  fiery  politics  was 
a  new  scene  to  him,  and  was  like  the  opening  of  some  fresh  volume 
of  human  life.  He  has  given  so  full  a  history  of  his  experiences 
when  he  was  Mr.  Badams's  guest  that  there  is  no  occasion  to  dwell 
upon  it.  The  visit  lasted  two  months  instead  of  one.  His  first  im- 
pression of  the  place,  a,s  he  described  it  in  a  letter  to  his  brother,  is 
I.— 7 


134  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

worth  preserving  as  a  specimen  of  his  powers  of  minute  word-paint- 
ing, and  as  a  description  of  what  Birmingham  was  sixty  years  ago  : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Birmingham:  August  10, 1824 

"Birmingham  I  have  now  tried  for  a  reasonable  time,  and  I  can- 
not complain  of  being  tired  of  it.  As  a  town  it  is  pitiful  enough — 
a  mean  congeries  of  bricks,  including  one  or  two  large  capitalists, 
some  hundreds  of  minor  ones,  and,  perhaps,  a  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  sooty  artisans  in  metals  and  chemical  produce.  The 
streets  are  ill-built,  ill-paved,  always  flimsy  in  their  aspect  —  often 
poor,  sometimes  miserable.  Not  above  one  or  two  of  them  are 
paved  with  flagstones  at  the  sides  ;  and  to  walk  upon  the  little  egg- 
shaped,  slippery  flints  that  supply  their  places  is  something  like  a 
penance.  Yet  withal  it  is  interesting  from  some  of  the  commons 
or  lanes  that  spot  or  intersect  the  green,  woody,  undulating  environs 
to  view  this  city  of  Tubal  Cain.  Torrents  of  thick  smoke,  with 
ever  and  anon  a  burst  of  dingy  flame,  are  issuing  from  a  thousand 
funnels.  'A  thousand  hammers  fall  by  turns.'  You  hear  the 
clank  of  innumerable  steam-engities,  the  rumbling  of  cars  and  vans, 
and  the  hum  of  men  interrupted  by  the  sharper  rattle  of  some  canal- 
boat  loading  or  disloading ;  or,  perhaps,  some  fierce  explosion  when 
the  cannon  founders  are  proving  their  new-made  ware.  I  have  seen 
their  rolling-mills,  their  polishing  of  teapots,  and  buttons,  and  gun- 
barrels,  and  fire-shovels,  and  swords,  and  all  manner  of  toys  and 
tackle.  I  have  looked  into  their  iron-works  where  150,000  men  are 
smelting  the  metal  in  a  district  a  few  miles  to  the  north ;  their  coal- 
mines, fit  image  of  Avernus  ;  their  tubs  and  vats,  as  large  as  country 
churches,  full  of  copperas  and  aqua-fortis  and  oil  of  vitriol ;  and  the 
whole  is  not  without  its  attractions,  as  well  as  repulsions,  of  which, 
when  we  meet,  I  will  preach  to  you  at  large." 

But  all  the  while  Carlyle's  heart  was  in  Scotland,  at  Haddington 
— and  less  at  Haddington  than  at  Mainhill.  The  strongest  personal 
passion  which  he  experienced  through  all  his  life  was  his  affection 
for  his  mother.  She  was  proud  and  wilful,  as  he.  He  had  sent 
her,  or  offered  her,  more  presents,  and  she  had  been  angry  with  him. 
She  had  not  been  well,  and  she  was  impatient  of  doctors'  regulations. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Mainhill. 

"Birmingham:  August  29, 1824. 

1 '  I  must  suggest  some  improvements  in  your  diet  and  mode  of 
life  which  might  be  of  service  to  you,  who  I  know  too  well  have 
much  to  suffer  on  your  own  part,  though  your  affection  renders  you 
so  exclusively  anxious  about  me.  You  wiu  say  you  cannot  be  fashed. 
Oh,  my  dear  mother,  if  you  did  but  think  of  what  value  your  health 
and  comfort  are  to  us  all,  you  would  never  talk  so.  Are  we  not  all 
bound  to  you  by  sacred  and  indissoluble  ties?  Am  I  not  so  bound 
more  than  any  other?  Who  was  it  that  nursed  me  and  watched  me 
in  frowardness  and  sickness  from  the  earliest  dawn  of  mv  existence 
to  this  hour?  My  mother.  Who  is  it  that  has  struggled  for  me  in 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  135 

pain  and  sorrow  with  undespairing  diligence,  that  has  for  me  been 
up  early  and  down  late,  caring  for  me,  laboring  for  me,  unweariedly 
assisting  me?  My  mother.  Who  is  the  one  that  never  shrunk  from 
me  in  my  desolation,  that  never  tired  of  my  despondencies,  or  shut 
up  by  a  look  or  tone  of  impatience  the  expression  of  my  real  or  im- 
aginary griefs?  Who  is  it  that  loves  me  and  will  love  me  forever 
with  an  affection  which  no  chance,  no  misery,  no  crime  of  mine  can 
do  away?  It  is  you,  my  mother.  As  the  greatest  favor  that  I  can 
beg  of  you,  let  me,  now  that  I  have  in  some  degree  the  power,  lie  of 
some  assistance  in  promoting  your  comfort.  It  were  one  of  the 
achievements  which  I  could  look  back  upon  with  most  satisfaction 
from  all  the  stages  of  my  earthly  pilgrimage,  if  I  could  make  you 
happier.  Are  we  not  all  of  us  animated  by  a  similar  love  to  you  ? 
Why  then  will  you  spare  any  trouble,  any  cost,  iu  what  is  valuable 
beyond  aught  earthly  to  every  one  of  us?" 

Eight  weeks  were  passed  with  Badams,  without,  however,  the  ad- 
vantage to  Carlyle's  health  which  he  had  looked  for.  There  had 
been  daily  rides  into  the  country,  visits  to  all  manner  of  interesting 
places — Hadley,  Warwick,  and  Kenilworth.  The  society  had  been 
interesting,  and  Badams  himself  all  that  was  kind  and  considerate. 
But  the  contempt  of  "drugs"  which  he  had  professed  in  London 
had  been  rather  theoretic  than  practical;  and  the  doses  which  had 
been  administered  perhaps  of  themselves  accounted  for  the  failure 
of  other  remedies.  At  the  beginning  of  September  an  invitation 
came  to  Carlyle  to  join  the  Stracheys  at  Dover.  The  Irvings  were 
to  be  of  the  party.  Irving  needed  rest  from  his  preaching.  Mrs. 
Irving  had  been  confined,  and  had  been  recommended  sea-air  for 
herself  and  her  baby.  The  Stracheys  and  Miss  Kirkpatrick  had 
taken  a  house  at  Dover;  the  Irvings  had  lodgings  of  their  own,  but 
were  to  live  with  their  friends,  and  Carlyle  was  to  be  included  in 
the  party.  Mrs.  Strachey  was  a  very  interesting  person  to  him,  still 
beautiful,  younger  than  Mrs.  Buller,  and  a  remarkable  contrast  to 
her.  Mrs.  Buller  was  a  sort  of  heathen ;  Mrs.  Strachey  was  earnestly 
religious.  "  She  is  as  unlike  Mrs.  Buller,"  Carlyle  told  his  mother, 
"as  pure  gold  is  to  gilt  copper;  she  is  an  earnest,  determined,  warm- 
hearted, religious  matron,  while  the  other  is  but  a  fluttering  patron- 
ess of  routs  and  operas."  An  invitation  to  stay  with  her  had  many 
attractions  for  him.  He  wished  to  go,  but  was  undecided.  The 
last  letter  from  Birmingham  was  on  September  18 : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Badams  and  I  go  on  very  lovingly  together.  He  calls  me  'phi- 
losopher '  by  way  of  eminence ;  and  Tdiscuss  and  overhaul,  and  dis- 
sect all  manner  of  subjects  with  him.  A  closer  acquaintance  dimin- 
ishes the  sublimity,  but  scarcely  the  pleasing  quality  of  his  charac- 
ter. A  certain  tendency  to  paint  en  bean,  a  sort  of  gasconading  turn 
in  describing  his  own  achievements  and  purposes,  is  all  the  fault  I 


136  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

can  discover  in  him;  his  kind-heartedness,  his  constant  activity,  and 
good-humor  are  more  and  more  apparent.  In  spite  of  all  his  long- 
boio  propensities  (his  running  away  with  the  harrows,  as  our  father 
•would  call  it)  he  is  a  man  of  no  ordinary  powers,  nor  has  he  any 
particle  of  dishonesty  hi  his  nature,  however  he  may  talk.  In  fact, 
if  I  admire  the  man  less  than  I  once  expected,  I  like  him  more. 
Strange  that  so  many  men  should  say  tJie  thing  that  is  not  without 
perceptible  temptation!  Hundreds  do  it  out  of  momentary  vanity 
— Frank  Dickson  and  many  others.  It  is  the  poorest  of  all  possible 
resources  in  this  world  of  makeshifts ;  thou  and  I  will  never  try  it. 

"With  regard  to  health,  it  often  seems  to  me  that  I  am  better 
than  I  have  been  for  several  years,  though  scarcely  a  week  passes 
•without  a  relapse  for  a  while  into  directly  the  opposite  opinion. 
The  truth  is,  it  stands  thus:  I  have  been  bephysicked  and  bedrugged. 
I  have  swallowed,  say  about  two  stoupfuls  of  castor-oil  since  I  came 
hither :  unless  I  dose  myself  with  that  oil  of  sorrow  every  fourth 
day,  I  cannot  get  along  at  all.  .  .  .  My  resources  are  more  numerous 
than  they  have  been,  and  I  am  free  to  use  them.  Am  I  a  man  and 
can  do  nothing  to  ameliorate  my  destiny?  Hang  it,  I  will  set  up 
house  in  the  country  and  take  to  gardening  and  translating,  before  I 
let  it  beat  me.  In  general  I  am  not  unhappy — of  late  I  have  begun 
to  grudge  being  so  long  idle.  'Schiller'  is  almost  at  a  stand.  I 
have  been  thinking  of  it  and  preparing  improvements,  but  the  Tay- 
lor creature  is  slow  as  a  snail.  ...  I  wrote  to  Irving  stating  in  dis- 
tant terms  a  proposal  to  board  with  him  through  winter.  He  has 
not  answered  me,  but  I  expect  daily  that  he  will.  If  he  consent,  I 
shall  go  with  him  and  Mrs.  Strachey  to  Dover.  If  not,  I  think  hard- 
ly. My  better  plan  will  be  to  go  to  London  and  take  lodgings  till 
this  pitiful  book  is  off  my  hands,  then  return  to  the  North  or  stay  in 
London  as  I  reckon  best. " 

The  journey  back  on  the  coach  through  the  midland  counties, 
which  in  late  September  are  usually  so  beautiful,  was  spoiled  by 
bad  weather.  On  his  way,  however,  Carlyle  saw  Stratford,  and  was 
long  enough  in  the  town  to  form  a  clear  picture  of  it.  His  letters 
are  the  journal  of  his  experiences: 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"London:  September  27,  1824 

"Taking  leave  of  Badams,  who  strictly  charged  me  to  come  back 
for  another  month  till  he  had  completed  his  doctorial  and  castor-oil 
system  with  me,  I  left  the  city  of  Tubal  Cain  on  Thursday  morn- 
ing. My  passage  was  of  a  mixed  character.  Some  of  Badams's 
drugs  had  not  prospered  with  me,  and  I  fell  below  par  in  point  of 
health.  The  morning  also  was  damp  and  the  day  proved  rainy. 
To  complete  the  matter  it  cleared  up  just  when  I  had  shifted  my 
place  to  the  interior  of  the  vehicle,  and  exchanged  the  sight  of  High 
Wycombe  and  the  lawns  of  Buckinghamshire  for  the  inane  prattle 
of  a  little  black-eyed  pretty  blue-stocking  Genevese,  my  sole  travel- 
ling companion;  so  that  when  they  set  me  down  in  Oxford  Street, 
falsely  said  by  the  rascal  guard  to  be  the  nearest  point  to  Penton- 
ville,  from  which  it  was  three  miles  distant — Lad  Lane  being  only 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  137 

one — I  fell  somewhat  out  of  humor,  a  dissonance  of  spirit  which 
increased  to  loud  jarring  as  I  followed  my  stout  and  fleet  porter, 
who  strode  lustily  along  under  cloud  of  night,  through  labyrinthine 
streets  and  alleys,  with  my  portmanteau  dangling  at  his  back,  and 
a  travelling-bag  to  balance  it  in  front.  Tramp,  tramp,  amidst  the 
rattling  of  wains  and  coaches,  and  the  unearthly  cries  of  fruiterers 
and  oystermen  and  piemen  and  all  the  mighty  din  of  London,  till 
I  verily  thought  he  would  never  reach  a  point  of  the  city  which  my 
eyes  had  seen  before. 

"Nevertheless,!  had  not  been  without  my  enjoyments  on  the 
road.  I  had  got  another  glance  of  the  heart  of  'merry  England,' 
with  its  waving  knolls  and  green  woody  fields  and  snug  hamlets 
and  antique  boroughs  and  jolly  ale-drinking,  beef -eating  people.  .  .  . 
It  was  not  without  some  pleasurable  imaginations  that  I  saw  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,  the  very  hills  and  woods  which  the  boy  Shake- 
speare had  looked  upon,  the  very  church  where  his  dust  reposes, 
nay,  the  very  house  where  he  was  born ;  the  threshold  over  which 
his  staggering  footsteps  carried  him  in  infancy;  the  very  stones 
where  the  urchin  played  marbles  and  flogged  tops.  ...  It  is  a  small, 
grim-looking  house  of  bricks,  bound,  as  was  of  old  the  fashion,  with 
beams  of  oak  intersecting  the  bricks,  which  are  built  into  it  and  fill 
up  its  interstices  as  the  glass  does  in  a  window.  The  old  tile  roof 
is  cast  by  age,  and  twisted  into  all  varieties  of  curvature.  Half  the 
house  has  been  modernized  and  made  a  butcher's  shop.  The  street 
where  it  stands  is  a  simple-looking,  short,  every -day  village  street, 
with  houses  mostly  new,  and  consisting,  like  the  Shakespeare  house, 
of  two  low  stories,  or  rather  a  story  and  a  half.  Stratford  itself  is 
a  humble,  pleasant-looking  place,  the  residence  as  formerly  of  wool- 
combers  and  other  quiet  artisans,  except  where  they  have  brought 
an  ugly  black  canal  into  it,  and  polluted  this  classical  borough  by 
the  presence  of  lighters  or  trackboats  with  famished  horses,  sooty 
drivers,  and  heaps  of  coke  and  coal.  It  seems  considerably  larger 
and  less  showy  than  Annan.  Shakespeare,  Breakspeare,  and  for 
aught  I  know  sundry  other  spears,  are  still  common  names  in  War- 
wickshire. I  was  struck  on  my  arrival  at  Birmingham  by  a  sign 
not  far  from  Badams's,  indicating  the  abode  of  William  Shake- 
speare, boot  and  shoe  maker,  which  boots  and  shoes  the  modern 
Shakespeare  also  professed  his  ability  to  mend  'cheap  and  neatly.' 
Homer,  I  afterwards  discovered,  had  settled  in  Birmingham  as  a 
button-maker. 

"Bull  must  not  wander  thus,  or  I  shall  never  have  done.  Of 
Oxford,  with  its  domes  and  spires  and  minarets,  its  rows  of  shady 
trees,  and  still  monastic  edifices  in  their  antique  richness  and  intri- 
cate seclusion,  I  shall  say  nothing  till  I  see  you.  I  must  rather  hast- 
en to  observe  that  I  found  the  Orator  at  Pentonville  sitting  sparrow- 
like,  companionless,  in — not  on — the  house-top  alone.  His  wife  had 
left  him,  and  had  taken  all  the  crockery  and  bedding  and  other 
household  gear  along  with  her.  He  extended  to  me  the  right  hand 
of  fellowship  notwithstanding,  and  even  succeeded  in  procuring  me 
some  genial  tea  with  an  egg,  only  half  rotten,  which,  for  a  London 
egg,  is  saying  much.  .  .  .  By-and-by,  one  Hamilton,  a  worthy  and 
accomplished  merchant  from  Sanquhar,  came  in  and  took  me  with 


138  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

him  to  his  lodgings  and  treated  me  comfortably;  and  there,  in  a 
splendid  bed,  I  contrived,  in  spite  of  agitation  from  within,  and 
noise  and  bugs  from  without,  to  get  six  hours  of  deep  slumber. 
Next  morning  I  was  fitter  to  do  business. 

"On  leaving  Birmingham  I  had  felt  uncertain  whether  I  should 
go  to  Dover  with  the  Orator  or  not ;  and  I  had  partly  determined  to 
be  regulated  in  my  yea  or  no  by  his  acceptance  or  rejection  of  my 
proposal  to  board  with  him  whiie  in  London.  On  coming  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  I  soon  discovered  that  his  reverence  was  embar- 
rassed by  a  conflicting  proposal  (to  board  at  a  very  high  rate  some 
medical  youth  from  Glasgow)  which  was  not  yet  decided  on,  and 
was  consequently  in  the  way  of  any  definite  arrangement  with  me. 
The  good  priest — for  with  all  his  vanities  and  affectations  he  is  re- 
ally a  good  man,  an  excellent  man,  as  men  go — puckered  up  his  face 
and  eyebrows  in  much  distress,  and  was  just  commencing  with  va- 
rious articulate  and  inarticulate  preparations,  when  I,  discovering 
rapidly  how  the  matter  stood,  begged  him  to  consider  my  proposal 
unmade,  and  never  to  say,  or  even  think,  one  other  word  upon  the 
subject.  The  puckers  disappeared  at  this  announcement,  but  were 
succeeded  by  a  continuous  cloud  of  gloom  and  regret  as  he  set  about 
advising  me  to  go  Avith  him  to  Dover,  and  to  put  off  the  considera- 
tion of  lodging  and  all  such  matters  till  my  return.  After  much 
canvassing  I  assented,  upon  the  proviso  of  my  being  allowed  to  bear 
my  own  share  of  the  expense,  and  to  be  his  fellow-lodger  and  not 
his  guest.  With  this  salve  to  my  pride,  which  I  already  almost  lie- 
gin  to  despise  as  a  piece  of  cold  selfishness,  we  struck  the  bargain 
that  he  should  set  out  on  Monday,  and  I  should  follow  whenever  my 
business  was  concluded. 

"The  'business'  I  could  have  in  London  may  well  surprise  you; 
it  was  (alas!  it  is)  the  most  pitiful  that  ever  man  had:  nothing  but 
the  collecting  of  a  few  books  for  the  completing  of  my  poor  '  Schil- 
ler.' You  cannot  think  what  trotting  to  and  fro  I  have  had  to  get 
a  book  or  two  of  the  most  simple  character.  Messrs.  Taylor  and 
Henry  pay  me  somewhere  on  the  verge  of  QQl.  down  upon  the  nail 
for  this  book,  the  day  when  it  is  published.  In  about  ten  weeks 
from  this  date  I  expect  to  be  free  of  London,  to  have  ascertained 
how  it  will  suit  me,  what  hopes,  what  advantages  it  offers,  and  to 
decide  for  continuance  or  departure  as  shall  seem  to  me  best.  If 
my  health  improve  I  shall  be  for  remaining,  especially  if  I  can  fasten 
upon  any  profitable  employment;  if  not,  scarcely.  About  the  ulti- 
matum I  am  by  no  means  low-spirited,  not  often  even  dumpish.  I 
feel  pretty  confident  that  I  can  recover  my  health  in  some  consider- 
able degree,  perhaps  wholly.  If  not  here — elsewhere.  While  this  is 
in  progress  I  can  at  the  worst  translate  for  the  London  or  Edinburgh 
market;  and  if  I  were  well,  I  feel  that  some  considerable  desire  to 
write  might  arise  within  me.  I  might,  like  Archy  Halliday,  '  fin '  a 
kind  of  inclination  to  bark,  and  certainly  there  is  no  want  of  game. 
A  miserable  scrub  of  an  author,  sharking  and  writing  '  articles ' 
about  town  like  Hazlitt,  De  Quincey,  and  that  class  of  living  creat- 
ures, is  a  thing  which,  as  our  mother  says,  'I  canna  be.'  Nor  shall 
I  need  it.  I  have  fifty  better  schemes. 

"As  to  not  boarding  with  Irving,  I  hardly  regret  it  now  that  it  is 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  139 

past.  His  house  would  scarcely  have  been  a  favorable  place  for 
studying  any  science  but  the  state  of  religion  in  general,  and  that  of 
tbe  Caledonian  chapel  in  particular,  as  managed  by  various  elders, 
delegates,  and  other  nondescript  personages.  A  very  affected  and 

not  very  beautiful  sister  of 's  is  also  to  stay  with  them  through 

the  winter.  Her  I  might  have  found  it  a  task  to  love.  'Pray,  Mr. 
C'arlyle,'  said  she,  in  a  mincing,  namby-pamby  tone,  the  night  she 
arrived,  when  I  was  sitting  with  my  powers  of  patience  screwed  to 
the  sticking  place,  being  in  truth  very  miserable  and  very  much  in- 
disposed to  make  complaints — '  pray,  Mr.  Carlyle,  are  you  really  sick 
now,  or  is  it  only  fanciful?'  'Fancy,  ma'am,  fancy,  nothing  more,' 
said  I,  half-turning  round,  and  immediately  proceeding  with  some 
other  topic,  addressed  to  some  other  member  of  the  company.  Be- 
sides, Irving  has  a  squeaking  brat  of  a  son,  '  who  indeed  brings  us 
many  blessings,'  but  rather  interrupts  our  rest  at  night.  Bad  luck  to 
his  blessings  compared  with  natural  rest!  In  short,  I  shall  be  more 
completely  master  in  my  own  lodgings." 

Carlyle  himself  was  not  an  inmate  whom  any  mistress  not  direct- 
ly connected  with  him  would  readily  welcome  into  her  household; 
so  it  was  well  perhaps  for  all  parties  that  the  proposed  arrangement 
was  abandoned.  The  Dover  visit,  however,  was  accomplished,  and 
the  unexpected  trip  to  Paris  which  grew  out  of  it.  For  this,  too, 
the  reader  is  mainly  referred  to  the  "  Reminiscences,"  which  need  no 
correction  from  contemporary  letters;  and  to  which  those  letters, 
though  written  when  the  scenes  were  fresh,  can  still  add  little,  save 
a  farther  evidence  of  the  extreme  accuracy  of  his  memory.  But 
there  is  a  humorous  description  of  the  gigantic  Irving  and  his  new- 
born baby,  a  pleasant  sketch  of  others  of  the  party,  and  an  interest- 
ing account  of  the  state  of  English  farming  and  the  English  laborer, 
as  Carlyle  saw  both  before  the  days  of  economic  progress.  These, 
and  some  vivid  pictures  of  the  drive  through  France,  justify  a  few 
extracts : 

To  James  Carlyle,  Mainhitt. 

"Dover  :  October  4. 

"  My  dear  Father, — I  arrived  in  this  corner  of  the  sea-girt  land  in 
the  dusk  of  a  bright  and  sharp  autumnal  day.  There  has  been  no 
fixed  arrangement  in  our  plans  as  yet.  Mrs.  Irving  with  her  infant 
had  come  down  with  a  Miss  Kirkpatrick.  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Strachey, 
in  whose  kind  house  we  are  all  living  till  the  rest  arrive,  when  the 
Irvings  and  I  shall  evacuate  the  place  and  seek  lodgings  of  our  own. 
I  expect  to  be  very  snug  and  comfortable  while  here.  The  sea-bath- 
ing seems  to  agree  with  me  as  well  as  ever,  and  the  people  are  all 
anxious  to  treat  me  as  a  kind  of  established  invalid,  whose  concerns 
are  to  be  attended  to  as  a  prime  object. 

"The  young  Miss  Kirkpatrick, with  whom  I  was  already  acquaint- 
ed, is  a  very  pleasant  and  meritorious  person — one  of  the  kindest 
and  most  modest  I  have  ever  seen.  Though  handsome  and  young 
and  sole  mistress  of  50,000?.,  she  is  meek  and  unassuming  as  a  little 
child.  She  laughs  in  secret  at  the  awkward  extravagances  of  the 


140  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Orator ;  yet  she  loves  him  as  a  good  man,  and  busies  herself  with 
nothing  so  much  as  discharging  the  duties  of  hospitality  to  us  all. 
...  Of  Irving  I  have  much  kindness  towards  me  to  record.  I  like 
the  man,  as  I  did  of  old,  without  respecting  him  much  less  or  more. 
He  has  a  considerable  turn  for  displays,  which  in  reality  are  sheer 
vanity,  though  he  sincerely  thinks  them  the  perfection  of  Christian 
elevation.  But  in  these  things  he  indulges  very  sparingly  before 
me,  and  any  little  glimpses  of  them  that  do  occur  I  find  it  easy  with- 
out the  slightest  ill-nature  arising  between  us  to  repress.  We  talk 
of  religion  and  literature  and  men  and  things,  and  stroll  about  and 
smoke  cigars,  a  choice  stock  of  which  he  has  been  presented  with 
by  some  friend.  I  reckon  him  much  improved  since  winter.  The 
fashionable  people  have  totally  left  him,  yielding  like  feathers  and 
flying  chaff  to  some  new  'centre  of  attraction.'  The  newspapers 
also  are  silent,  and  he  begins  to  see  that  there  was  really  nothing 
supernatural  in  the  former  hurly-burly,  but  that  he  must  content 
himself  with  patient  well-doing,  and  liberal,  though  not  immoder- 
ate, success ;  not  taking  the  world  by  one  fierce  onslaught,  but  by 
patient  and  continual  sapping  and  mining,  as  others  do. 

"  I  for  one  am  sincerely  glad  that  matters  have  taken  this  change. 
I  consider  him  a  man  of  splendid  gifts  and  good  intentions,  and 
likely  in  his  present  manner  of  proceeding  to  be  of  much  benefit  to 
the  people  among  whom  he  labors.  His  Isabella  also  is  a  good, 
honest-hearted  person  and  an  excellent  wife.  She  is  very  kind  to 
me,  and  though  without  any  notable  gifts  of  mind  or  manners  or 
appearance,  contrives  to  be  in  general  extremely  agreeable.  Irving 
and  she  are  sometimes  ridiculous  enough  at  present  in  the  matter 
of  their  son,  a  quiet  wersh  gorb  of  a  thing,  as  all  children  of  six 
weeks  are,  but  looked  upon  by  them  as  if  it  were  a  cherub  from  on 
high.  The  concerns  of  '  him '  (as  they  emphatically  call  it)  occupy 
a  large  share  of  public  attention.  Kitty  Kirkpatrick  smiles  covert- 
ly, and  I  laugh  aloud  at  the  earnest  devotedness  of  the  good  Orator 
to  this  weighty  affair.  '  Isabella,'  said  he,  the  other  night, ' I  would 
wash  him,  I  think,  with  warm  water  to-night,'  a  counsel  received 
with  approving  assent  by  the  mother,  but  somewhat  objected  to  by 
others.  I  declared  the  washing  and  dressing  of  him  to  be  the  wife's 
concern  alone;  and  that, were  I  in  her  place,  I  would  wash  him  with 
oil  of  vitriol  if  I  pleased,  and  take  no  one's  counsel  in  it. 

"When  Mrs.  Strachey  comes  I  expect  some  accession  of  enjoy- 
ment. She  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  me,  and  is  any  way  a  sin- 
gularly worthy  woman.  I  had  a  very  kind  note  from  her  this  day. 

"Kent  is  a  delightful  region,  fertile  and  well-cultivated,  watered 
with  clear  streams,  sufficiently  and  not  excessively  besprinkled  with 
trees,  and  beautifully  broken  with  inequalities  of  surface.  The  whole 
country  rests  on  chalk.  They  burn  this  mineral  in  kilns  and  use  it 
as  lime.  In  its  native  state  it  lies  in  immense  masses,  divided  into 
strata  or  courses  by  lumps  of  flint  distributed  in  parallel  seams.  The 
husbandry  in  Kent  is  beyond  that  in  many  counties  in  England,  but 
a  Scottish  farmer  would  smile  at  many  parts  of  it.  They  plough 
with  five  horses  and  two  men  (one  ca-ing),  and  the  plough  has 
wheels.  Many  a  time  have  I  thought  of  Alick  with  his  Lothian 
tackle  and  two  horses  setting  these  inefficient  loiterers  to  the  right- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  141 

about.  Yet  here  they  are  much  better  than  in  Warwickshire,  where 
farming  may  be  said  to  be  an  unknown  art,  where  the  fields  are 
sometimes  of  half  an  acre,  and  of  all  possible  shapes  but  square,  and 
a  thrashing-mill  is  a  thing  nearly  unheard  of.  Here  a  fifth  part  of 
the  surface  is  not  covered  with  gigantic  and  ill-kept  fences ;  but  they 
grow  their  wheat  and  their  beans  and  their  hops  on  more  rational 
principles.  In  all  cases,  however,  the  people  seem  to  realize  a  good- 
ly share  of  solid  comfort.  The  English  hind  has  his  pork  (often 
raw)  or  his  beef,  with  ale  and  wheateu  bread  three  times  a  day,  and 
wears  a  ruddy  and  substantial  look,  see  him  where  you  will.  I  have 
looked  into  the  clean,  brick-built,  tile-flagged  little  cottages,  and  seen 
the  people  dining, with  their  jug  of  ale,  their  bacon,  and  other  ware, 
and  a  huge  loaf,  like  a  stithy  clog,  toweringover  it  all.  It  is  pleas- 
ant to  see  every  one  so  well  provided  for.  There  is  nothing  like  the 
appearance  of  want  to  be  met  with  anywhere." 

To  Miss  Welsh,  little  dreaming  of  the  relations  between  herself 
and  Irving,  Carlyle  was  still  more  dramatic  in  his  sketches  of  the 
Orator.  Miss  Welsh,  as  she  told  him  afterwards,  had  purposely 
misled  him  on  this  subject : 

"  Octobers. — The  Orator  is  busy  writing  and  bathing,  persuading 
himself  that  he  is  scaling  the  very  pinnacles  of  Christian  sentiment, 
which  in  truth,  with  him,  are  little  more  than  the  very  pinnacles  of 
human  vanity  rising  through  an  atmosphere  of  great  native  warmth 
and  generosity.  I  find  him  much  as  he  was  before,  and  I  suppose 
always  will  be,  overspread  with  secret  affectations,  secret  to  himself, 
but  kind  and  friendly  and  speculative  and  discursive  as  ever.  It 
would  do  your  heart  good  to  look  at  him  in  the  character  of  dry- 
nurse  to  his  first-born,  Edward.  Oh  that  you  saw  the  Giant,  with 
his  broad-brimmed  hat,  his  sallow  visage,  and  his  sable,  matted 
fleece  of  hair,  carrying  the  little  pepper-box  of  a  creature  folded  in 
his  monstrous  palms  along  the  beach,  tick  ticking  to  it,  and  dan- 
dling it,  and  every  time  it  stirs  an  eyelid  grinning  horribly  a  ghastly 
smile,  heedless  of  the  crowds  of  petrified  spectators  that  turn  round 
in  long  trains,  gazing  in  silent  terror  at  the  fatherly  leviathan ;  you 
would  laugh  for  twelve  months  after,  every  time  you  thought  of  it. 
And  yet  it  is  very  wrong  to  laugh  if  one  could  help  it.  Nature  is 
very  lovely:  pity  she  should  ever  be  absurd.  On  the  whole  I  am 
pleased  with  Irving,  and  hope  to  love  him  and  admire  him  and  laugh 
at  him  as  long  as  I  live.  There  is  a  fund  of  sincerity  in  his  life  and 
character  which  in  these  heartless,  aimless  days  is  doubly  precious. 
The  cant  of  religion,  conscious  or  unconscious,  is  a  pitiable  thing, 
but  not  the  most  pitiable.  It  often  rests  upon  a  groundwork  of 
genuine,  earnest  feeling,  and  is,  I  think,  in  all  except  its  very  worst 
phases,  preferable  to  that  poor  and  mean  spirit  of  contemptuous  per- 
aiflnf/e  which  forms  the  staple  of  fashionable  accomplishment  so  far 
as  I  can  discern  it,  and  spreads  like  a  narcotic  drench  over  all  the 
better  faculties  of  the  soul." 

Mrs.  Strachey  came  down  after  a  few  days.  The  little  party  was 
ajways  together  —  walking  on  the  beach  or  reading  Fletcher's 


143  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Purple  Island."  Mrs.  Strachey  herself  was  in  full  sympathy  with 
Irving,  if  no  one  else  was.  Then  her  husband  came,  who  was  espe- 
cially wanting  in  sympathy.  The  difference  of  sentiment  became 
perceptible.  The  French  coast  lay  invitingly  opposite.  The  weather 
was  beautiful.  A  trip  to  Paris  was  proposed  and  instantly  decided 
on.  Mr.  Strachey,  Miss  Kirkpatrick,  and  Carlyle  were  to  go.  Mrs. 
Strachey  and  the  Irvings  were  to  stay  behind.  A  travelling  car- 
riage was  sent  across  the  Channel,  post-horses  were  always  ready  on 
the  Paris  road,  and  Carlyle,  who  had  but  left  Scotland  for  the  first 
time  four  months  before,  and  had  been  launched  an  entire  novice 
into  the  world,  was  now  to  be  among  the  scenes  so  long  familiar  to 
him  as  names.  They  went  by  Montreuil,  Abbeville,  Nampont,  with 
Sterne's  "  Sentimental  Journey  "  as  a  guide-book,  when  Murray  was 
unknown.  They  saw  the  Cathedral  at  Beauvais,  for  which  Carlyle 
did  not  care  at  all ;  they  saw  French  soldiers,  for  which  he  cared  a 
great  deal.  He  himself  could  speak  a  little  French ;  Strachey,  like 
most  Englishmen,  almost  none.  Montmorency  reminded  him  of 
Rousseau.  From  Moutmartre  they  looked  down  on  Paris  :  ' '  not  a 
breath  of  smoke  or  dimness  anywhere,  every  roof  and  dome  and 
spire  and  chimney-top  clearly  visible,  and  the  skylights  sparkling 
like  diamonds."  "I  have  never,"  he  says,  "since  or  before,  seen  so 
fine  a  view  of  a  town."  Carlyle,  who  could  see  and  remember  so 
much  of  Stratford,  where  he  stayed  only  while  the  coach  changed 
horses,  coming  on  Paris  fresh,  with  a  mind  like  wax  to  receive  im- 
pressions, yet  tenacious  as  steel  in  preserving  them,  carried  off  rec- 
ollections from  his  twelve  days'  sojourn  in  the  French  capital  which 
never  left  him,  and  served  him  well  in  after  years  when  he  came  to 
write  about  the  Revolution.  He  saw  the  places  of  which  he  had 
read.  He  saw  Louis  Dix-huit  lying  in  state,  Charles  Dix,  Legendre 
(whose  Geometry  he  had  translated  for  Brewster),  the  great  Laplace, 
M.  de  Chezy,  the  Persian  professor.  He  heard  Cuvier  lecture.  He 
went  to  the  Theatre  Fran9ais,  and  saw  and  heard  Talma  in 
"CEdipe."  He  listened  to  a  sermon  at  Ste.  Genevieve.  A  more 
impressive  sermon  was  a  stern  old  gray-haired  corpse  which  he  saw 
lying  in  the  Morgue.  He  saw  the  French  people,  and  the  ways  and 
works  of  them,  which  interested  him  most  of  all.  These  images, 
with  glimpses  of  English  travellers,  were  all  crowded  into  the  few 
brief  days  of  their  stay ;  the  richest  in  new  ideas,  new  emotions, 
new  pictures  of  human  life,  which  Carlyle  had  yet  experienced. 

From  the  many  letters  which  he  wrote  about  it  I  select  one  to  his 
brother  John : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Dover :  November  7. 

' '  My  expedition  to  Paris  was  nearly  as  unexpected  to  myself  as  the 
news  of  it  will  be  to  you.    Strachey,  a  little,  bustling,  logic-chopping, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  143 

good-hearted,  frank  fellow,  came  down  to  Dover  three  weeks  ago,  and 
finding  himself,  I  suppose,  rather  dull  in  the  region  of  the  Cinque 
Ports,  and  tempted,  moreover,  by  the  persuasions  of  his  cousin  Kitty, 
as  well  as  by  the  daily  sight  of  the  French  coast,  he  determined  at 
last  on  a  journey  thither,  and  after  infinite  pleadings  and  solicita- 
tions I  was  prevailed  upon  to  be  of  the  party.  They  were  to  travel  in 
their  own  carriage,  Kitty  and  her  maid  inside,  Strachey  on  the  coach- 
box to  see  the  country.  The  additional  expense  for  me  would  be  noth- 
ing ;  it  would  be  so  pleasant,  and  would  do  me  so  much  good.  lu 
fine,  after  a  world  of  perplexities  and  miscalculations  and  misadvent- 
ures, I  having  tirst  half  consented,  then  wholly  refused,  then  again 
consented,  we  at  length  all  assembled  by  different  routes  on  the  sands 
of  Boulogne  in  the  afternoon  of  Thursday  gone  a  fortnight,  and  set 
off  with  the  utmost  speed  of  three  lean  horses  of  the  paste  royale  for 
Paris.  After  adventures  and  mistakes  which  will  keep  us  laughing 
many  a  winter  night  when  thou  and  I  meet,  we  reached  the  capital 
on  Saturday  about  four  o'clock,  and  forthwith  established  ourselves 
in  the  Hotel  de  Wagram,  and  proceeded  to  the  great  purpose  of  our 
journey — the  seeing  of  the  many  sights  with  which  the  metropolis  of 
France  abounds  beyond  any  other  spot  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
By  degrees  we  got  into  proper  train,  and  everything  went  on  wonder- 
fully well.  Strachey  and  I  went  out  singly  or  in  company  to  purvey 
for  dinners  and  breakfasts  in  the  cafes  and  restaurateur  establish- 
ments, etc. 

"  Sated  at  length  with  wonders,  we  left  Paris  last  Wednesday,  and 
after  a  not  unprosperous  journey  arrived  here  yesterday  afternoon. 
Irving  and  his  household  had  left  Dover  a  few  hours  before.1  On 
the  whole  I  cannot  say  I  regret  this  jaunt.  I  have  seen  many  strange 
things  which  may  people  my  imagination  with  interesting  forms, 
and,  perhaps,  yield  some  materials  for  reflection  and  improvement. 
France,  as  it  presented  itself  to  me  on  a  most  cursory  survey,  seemed 
a  place  rather  to  be  looked  at  than  tarried  in.  Oh  that  I  had  space 
to  paint  to  you  the  strange  pilgarlic  figures  that  I  saw  breakfasting 
over  a  few  expiring  embers  on  roasted  apples,  ploughing  with  three 
ponies,  with  ploughs  like  peat  barrows,  or  folded  together  in  long 
trough-sliaped  wicker  carts,  wearing  night-caps,  and  dresses  of  blue 
calico,  with  a  black  stump  of  a  pipe  stuck  between  their  jaws,  and 
a  drop  hanging  at  their  long  thin  noses,  and  faces  puckered  together 
into  the  most  weepy  mouse  aspect;  or  the  women  riding  on  cuddies 
with  wooden  saddles;  or  the  postilions  with  their  leather  shovel  hats 
and  their  boots  like  moderate  churns ;  often  blind  of  one  eye  or 
broken-legged,  and  always  the  coolest  liars  in  existence.  But  better 
than  all  was  our  own  mode  of  treating  them ;  and  Strachey's  French 
when  he  scolded  the  waiters  and  hosts  of  the  inns.  '  C'est  bien  im- 
posant  "  (said  he  at  Beauvais),  'c'est  une  rascalite,  vous  dis-je;  vous 
avez  charge  deux  f ois  trop ;  vous  etes, '  etc.  To  all  which  they  an- 
swered with  the  gravity  of  judges  passing  the  sentence  of  death: 
'Monsieur,  c'est  impossible;  on  ne  vous  surfait  nullement;  on  no,' 
etc.  'Ou  est  les  chevaux,'  shrieked  he  at  the  end  of  every  post. 

1  In  the  "  Reminiscences"  he  says  that  he  fouud  Irving  still  at  Dover.  This  is  the 
single  error  of  fact  which  I  have  detected. 


144  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

'Vont  venir,  monsieur,' said  they.  Kitty  and  I  were  like  to  split 
with  laughing.  At  length  Strachey  himself  gave  up  the  cause  en- 
tirely and  took  to  speaking  French  English  without  disguise.  When 
a  man  asked  him  for  'quelque  chose  &  boire;  je  vous  ai  conduit 
tres-bien,'  Strachey  answered,  without  looking  at  him,  'Nong  !  vous 
avez  drive  devilish  slow,'  which  suited  just  as  well. 

"  Of  Paris  I  shall  say  nothing  till  we  meet.  It  is  the  Vanity  Fair 
of  the  Universe,  and  cannot  be  described  in  many  letters.  With 
few  exceptions  the  streets  are  narrow  and  crowded  and  unclean,  the 
kennel  in  the  middle,  and  a  lamp  hanging  over  it  here  and  there  on 
a  rope  from  side  to  side.  There  are  no  foot-paths,  but  an  everlast- 
ing press  of  carriages  and  carts  and  dirty  people  hastening  to  and 
fro  among  them,  amidst  a  thousand  gare-gares  and  sacres  and  other 
oaths  and  admonitions;  while  by  the  side  are  men  roasting  chest- 
nuts in  their  booths,  fruit-shops,  wine-shops,  barbers  ;  silk  merchants 
selling  dprix  juste  (without  cheating),  restaurateurs,  cafes,  traiteurs, 
magasins  de  bonbons,  billiard-tables,  estaminets  (gin-shops),  debits  de 
tabac  (where  you  buy  a  cigar  for  a  half-penny  and  go  out  smoking 
it),  and  every  species  of  depot  and  entrepot  and  magaain  for  the  com- 
fort and  refreshment  of  the  physical  part  of  the  natural  man,  plying 
its  vocation  in  the  midst  of  noise  and  stink,  both  of  which  it  aug- 
ments by  its  produce  and  by  its  efforts  to  dispose  of  it.  The  Palais- 
Royal  is  a  spot  unrivalled  in  the  world,  the  chosen  abode  of  vanity 
and  vice,  the  true  palace  of  the  tigre-singcs^  (tiger-apes),  as  Voltaire 
called  his  countrymen,  a  place  which  I  rejoice  to  think  is  separated 
from  me  by  the  girdle  of  the  ocean,  and  never  likely  to  be  copied 
in  the  British  Isles.  I  dined  in  it  often,  and  bought  four  little  bone 
etuis  (needle-cases)  at  a  franc  each  for  our  four  sisters  at  Mainhill. 
It  is  a  sort  of  emblem  of  the  French  character,  the  perfection  of  the 
physical  and  fantastical  part  of  our  nature,  with  an  absence  of  all 
that  is  solid  and  substantial  in  the  moral,  and  often  in  the  intellect- 
ual part  of  it.  Looking-glasses  and  trinkets  and  fricassees  and 
gaming-tables  seem  to  be  the  life  of  a  Frenchman;  his  home  is  a 
place  where  he  sleeps  and  dresses ;  he  lives  in  the  salon  du  restau- 
rateur on  the  boulevard,  or  the  garden  of  the  Palais-Royal.  Every 
room  you  enter,  destitute  of  carpet  or  fire,  is  expanded  into  bound- 
lessness by  mirrors  ;  and  I  should  think  about  fifty  thousand  dice- 
boxes  are  set  a  rattling  every  night,  especially  on  Sundays,  within 
the  walls  of  Paris.  There  the  people  sit  and  chatter  and  fiddle  away 
existence  as  if  it  were  a  raree  show,  careless  how  it  go  on  so  they 
have  excitement,  des  sensations  agreables.  Their  palaces  and  picture- 
galleries  and  triumphal  arches  are  the  wonder  of  the  earth,  but  the 
stink  of  their  streets  is  considerable,  and  you  cannot  walk  on  them 
without  risking  the  fracture  of  your  legs  or  neck. 

"But  peace  to  the  French !  for  here  I  have  no  room  to  express 
even  my  ideas  about  them,  far  less  to  do  them  any  justice.  Suffice 
it  to  observe  that  I  contrived  to  see  nearly  all  that  could  be  seen 
within  twelve  days,  and  to  carry  off  as  much  enjoyment  as  it  was 
possible  for  sights  to  afford  me  at  the  expense  of  about  five  pounds 
sterling.  I  saw  the  Louvre  gallery  of  pictures,  the  Tuilerie's  palace, 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  the  churches  and  cemeteries,  and  all  that 
could  be  seen.  I  saw  Talma  the  actor,  and  almost  touched  His  Most 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  145 

Christian  Majesty  Charles  X.  What  was  most  interesting,  I  heard 
Baron  Cuvief  deliver  his  introductory  lecture  on  comparative  anat- 
omy. Cuvier  himself  pleased  me  much;  he  seems  about  fifty,  with 
a  fair  head  of  hair  growing  gray,  a  large  broad,  not  very  high  head, 
a  nose  irregularly  aquiline,  receding  mouth,  peaked  chin,  blue  eyes, 
which  he  casts  upwards,  puckering  the  eyebrows  with  a  look  of 
great  sweetness  and  wisdom ;  altogether  the  appearance  of  an  ac- 
complished, kind,  and  gentlemanly  person.  His  lecture  lasted  an 
hour  and  a  half.  I  made  out  nine-tenths  of  it,  and  thought  it  very 
good  and  wonderfully  fluent  and  correct  for  an  extempore  one. 
Kay,  what  do  you  think  ?  I  made  bold  to  introduce  myself  to  Le- 
gendre,  and  was  by  him  taken  to  a  sitting  of  the  Institute,  and  pre- 
sented to  Dupin,  the  celebrated  traveller  in  England.  Here  also 
I  saw  Laplace  and  Lacroix,  and  Poisson  the  mathematician,  and 
Yauquelin  and  Chaptal  and  Thenard  the  chemists,  and  heard  Ma- 
gendie  read  a  paper.  Dupin  would  have  introduced  me  to  Laplace 
and  others,  an  honor  which  I  declined,  desiring  only  to  impress 
myself  with  a  picture  of  then-  several  appearances." 

Such  was  Carlyle's  sudden  visit  to  Paris — an  incident  of  more  im- 
portance to  him  than  he  knew  at  the  moment.  He  complained  be- 
fore and  he  complained  after  of  the  hardness  of  fortune  to  him ;  but 
fortune  in  the  shape  of  friends  was  throwing  in  his  way  what  very 
few  young  men  better  connected  in  life  have  the  happiness  of  so 
early  falling  in  with.  The  expedition  created  no  small  excitement 
at  Mainhill.  The  old  people  had  grown  up  under  the  traditions  of 
the  war.  For  a  son  of  theirs  to  go  abroad  at  all  was  almost  mirac- 
ulous. When  they  heard  that  he  was  gone  to  Paris,  ' '  all  the  stout- 
ness of  their  hearts  "  was  required  to  bear  it. 

"It  matters  little  to  the  sufferers  [wrote  his  brother  Alexander] 
whether  their  evils  are  real  or  imaginary.  Our  anxiety  was  ground- 
less, but  this  did  little  help  till  your  letter  to  Jack  arrived.  We  had 
inquired  at  the  post-office  every  day  for  more  than  a  fortnight  be- 
fore it  came,  and  every  new  disappointment  was,  especially  to  our 
anxious  mother,  reason  sufficient  for  darkening  still  deeper  the  cata- 
logue of  her  fears  about  your  welfare.  I  really  believe  that  two  or 
three  days  more  of  silence  would  have  driven  her  distracted  well- 
nigh.  She  had  laid  aside  singing  for  more  than  a  fortnight ;  and 
even  the  rest  of  the  women,  if  they  attempted  to  sing  or  indulge 
in  laughing,  were  reproached  with  unbecoming  lightness  of  heart. 
But,  thanks  to  Heaven,  we  are  all  of  us  to  rights  again;  and  you 
have  crossed  and  recrossed  the  blue  ocean — yea,  visited  the  once- 
powerful  kingdom  of  the  great  Napoleon,  at  whose  frown  Europe 
crouched  in  terror." 


146  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A.D.  1824.    MT.  29. 

THE  holiday  was  over.  Carlyle  returned  to  London  with  the 
Stracheys,  and  settled  himself  in  lodgings  in  Southampton  Street, 
near  Irving.  Here  at  any  rate  he  intended  to  stay  till ' '  Schiller  "  was 
off  his  hands  complete  in  the  form  of  the  book.  That  accomplished, 
the  problem  of  his  future  life  remained  to  be  encountered.  "What 
was  he  to  do?  He  was  adrift,  with  no  settled  occupation.  To  what 
should  he  turn  his  hand  ?  Where  should  he  resolve  to  live  ?  He 
had  now  seen  London.  He  had  seen  Birmingham  with  its  busy  in- 
dustries. He  had  seen  Paris.  He  had  been  brought  into  contact 
with  English  intellectual  life.  He  had  conversed  and  measured 
strength  with  some  of  the  leading  men  of  letters  of  the  day.  He 
knew  that  he  had  talents  which  entitled  him  to  a  place  among  the 
best  of  them.  But  he  was  sick  in  body,  and  mentally  he  was  a 
strange  combination  of  pride  and  self-depreciation.  He  was  free  as 
air,  but  free  only,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  because  of  his  insignificance 
— because  no  one  wanted  his  help.  Most  of  us  find  our  course  de- 
termined by  circumstances.  We  are  saved  by  necessity  from  the 
infirmity  of  our  own  wills.  No  necessity  interfered  with  Carlyle. 
He  had  the  world  before  him  with  no  limitations  but  his  poverty, 
and  he  was  entirely  at  sea.  So  far  only  he  was  determined,  that  he 
would  never  sell  his  soul  to  the  devil,  never  speak  what  he  did  not 
wholly  believe,  never  do  what  in  his  inmost  heart  he  did  not  feel 
to  be  right,  and  that  he  would  keep  his  independence,  come  what 
might. 

"As  old  Quixote  said  [he  wrote  at  this  time],  and  as  I  have  often 
said  after  him,  if  it  were  but  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  cup  of  water 
that  Heaven  has  given  thee,  rejoice  that  thou  hast  none  but  them  to 
thank  for  it.  A  man  that  is  not  standing  on  his  own  feet  in  regard 
to  economical  affairs  soon  ceases  to  be  a  man  at  all.  Poor  Cole- 
ridge is  like  the  hulk  of  a  huge  ship — his  masts  and  sails  and  rudder 
have  rotted  quite  away." 

Literature  lay  open.  Nothing  could  hinder  a  man  there  save  the 
unwillingness  of  publishers  to  take  his  wares ;  but  of  this  there 
seemed  to  be  no  danger,  "  Meister  "  seemed  to  be  coming  to  a  sec- 
ond edition,  the  "  Schiller,"  such  parts  of  it  as  had  as  yet  appeared, 
had  been  favorably  noticed;  and  Schiller's  own  example  was  spe- 
cially encouraging.  Schiller,  like  himself,  had  been  intended  for 
the  ministry,  had  recoiled  from  it,  had  drifted,  as  he  had  done,  into 
the  initial  stages  of  law,  but  had  been  unable  to  move  in  professional 
harness.  Schiller,  like  himself  again,  had  been  afflicted  with  painful 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  147 

chronic  disease,  and,  though  it  killed  him  early,  his  spirit  had  tri- 
umphed over  his  body.  At  the  age  at  which  Carlyle  had  now  arrived, 
Schiller's  name  was  known  in  every  reading  household  in  Germany, 
and  his  early  plays  had  been  translated  into  half  the  languages  in 
Europe.  Schiller,  however,  more  fortunate  than  he,  possessed  the 
rare  and  glorious  gift  of  poetry.  Carlyle  had  tried  poetry  and  had 
consciously  failed.  He  had  intellect  enough.  He  had  imagination 
— no  lack  of  that,  and  the  keenest  and  widest  sensibilities;  yet  with 
a  true  instinct  he  had  discovered  that  the  special  faculty  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  poet  from  other  men,  nature  had  not  bestowed  upon 
him.  He  had  no  correct  metrical  ear ;  the  defect  can  be  traced  in 
the  very  best  of  his  attempts,  whether  at  translation  or  at  original 
composition.  He  could  shape  his  materials  into  verse,  but  without 
spontaneity,  and  instead  of  gaining  beauty  they  lost  their  force  and 
clearness.  His  prose  at  this  time  was,  on  the  other  hand,  supremely 
excellent,  little  as  he  knew  it.  The  sentences  in  his  letters  are  per- 
fectly shaped,  and  are  pregnant  with  meaning.  The  more  impas- 
sioned passages  flow  in  rhythmical  cadence  like  the  sweetest  tones 
of  an  organ.  The  style  of  the  "  Life  of  Schiller"  is  the  style  of  his 
letters.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  it;  he  thought  it  "wretched," 
"bombastic,"  "not  in  the  right  vein."  It  was  in  fact  simple.  Few 
literary  biographies  in  the  English  language  equal  it  for  grace,  for 
brevity,  for  clearness  of  portraiture,  and  artist-like  neglect  of  the 
unessentials.  Goethe  so  clearly  recognized  its  merits,  that  in  a  year 
or  two  it  was  to  be  translated  under  his  direction  into  German,  and 
edited  with  a  preface  by  himself.  While  England  and  Scotland 
were  giving  Carlyle  at  best  a  few  patronizing  nods,  soon  to  change 
to  anger  and  contempt,  Goethe  saw  in  this  young  unknown  Scotch- 
man the  characteristics  of  a  true  man  of  genius,  and  spoke  of  him 
"as  a  new  moral  force,  the  extent  and  effects  of  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  predict. " 

The  rewriting  and  arranging  of  the  "Life  of  Schiller"  was  more 
tedious  than  Carlyle  expected.  It  was  done  at  last,  however,  pub- 
lished and  paid  for.  A  copy  was  sent  to  Mainhill,  with  a  letter  to 
his  mother : 

' '  I  have  at  last  finished  that  miserable  book,  on  account  of  which 
I  have  been  scolding  printers  and  running  to  and  fro  like  an  evil 
spirit  for  the  last  three  weeks.  The  '  Life  of  Schiller '  is  now  fairly 
off  my  hands.  I  have  not  put  my  name  to  it,  not  feeling  anxious  to 
have  the  syllables  of  my  poor  name  pass  through  the  mouths  of 
cockneys  on  so  slender  an  occasion,  though,  if  any  one  lay  it  to  my 
charge,  I  shall  see  no  reason  to  blush  for  the  hand  I  had  in  it.  Some- 
times of  late  I  have  bethought  me  of  some  of  your  old  maxims  about 
pride  and  vanity.  I  do  see  this  same  vanity  to  be  the  root  of  half 
the  evil  men  are  subject  to  in  life.  Examples  of  it  stare  me  in  the 
face  every  day. 


148  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"The  pitiful  passion  under  any  of  the  thousand  forms  which  it 
assumes  never  fails  to  wither  out  the  good  and  worthy  parts  of  a 
man's  character,  and  leave  him  poor  and  spiteful,  an  enemy  to  his 
own  peace  and  that  of  all  about  him.  There  never  was  a  wiser  doc- 
trine than  that  of  Christian  humility,  considered  as  a  corrective  for 
the  coarse,  unruly  selfishness  of  man's  nature.  I  know  you  will  read 
the  '  Schiller '  with  attention  and  pleasure.  It  contains  nothing  that 
I  know  of  but  truth  of  fact  and  sentiment,  and  I  have  always  found 
that  the  honest  truth  of  one  mind  had  a  certain  attraction  in  it  for 
every  other  mind  that  loved  truth  honestly.  Various  quacks,  for 
instance,  have  exclaimed  against  the  immorality  of  '  Meister;'  and 
the  person  whom  it  delighted  above  all  others  of  my  acquaintance 
was  Mrs.  Strachey,  exactly  the  most  religious,  pure,  and  true-minded 
person  among  the  whole  number.  A  still  more  convincing  proof  of 
my  doctrine  was  the  satisfaction  you  took  in  it. " 

The  "Schiller"  was  as  welcome  at  Mainhill  as  "Meister"  had 
been,  but  I  have  anticipated  the  completion  of  it.  It  was  not  fin- 
ished till  the  middle  of  the  winter,  all  which  time  Carlyle  was  alone 
in  his  London  lodgings.  His  personal  history  from  the  time  of  his 
return  from  Dover  is  told  in  his  letters : 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Mainhill. 

"23  Southampton  Street,  1'entonville:  November  12, 1824. 

"  The  Stracheys  took  me  with  them  in  their  carriage  to  Shooter's 
Hill,  and  I  made  my  way  to  the  hospitable  mansion  of  the  Orator  at 
Pentonville  by  various  coaches  as  I  best  could.  Next  morning  no 
entreaties  for  delay  could  detain  me.  I  set  out  in  quest  of  lodgings, 
determined  to  take  no  rest  till  I  had  found  some  place  which  I  could 
call  my  own,  where  I  might  at  last  collect  my  scattered  thoughts 
and  see  what  yet  remained  to  me  to  be  accomplished  or  avoided.  I 
found  the  task  of  seeking  lodgings  less  abominable  than  I  used  to 
reckon  it  in  Edinburgh.  Irving  and  his  wife  went  with  me  to  one 
or  two  till  I  got  into  the  way,  after  which  I  dismissed  them,  and 
proceeded  on  the  search  myself.  Erelong  I  landed  in  Southamp- 
ton Street,  a  fine,  clean,  quiet  spot,  and  found  a  landlady  and  a 
couple  of  rooms  almost  exactly  such  as  I  was  wanting. 

"Here  I  have  fixed  my  abode  for  a  space,  and  design  to  set  seri- 
ously about  remodelling  my  affairs.  On  the  whole  I  am  happy  that 
I  have  got  into  a  house  of  my  own  where  I  am  lord  and  master,  and 
can  manage  as  I  like  without  giving  an  account  to  any  one.  Irving 
could  not  take  me  to  board  in  his  house,  having  engaged  to  admit 
one  Parker  from  Glasgow  (at  a  very  high  rate),  who  is  coming  here 
to  study  law.  Indeed,  after  inspecting  the  state  of  his  internal  econ- 
omy, I  more  than  ceased  to  desire  it.  He  himself  is  of  rough  and 
ready  habits,  and  his  wife  is  not  by  any  means  the  pink  of  house- 
keepers. For  one  like  me  their  house  and  table  would  have  suited 
but  indifferently  in  point  of  health,  and  their  visitors  and  other  in- 
terruptions would  have  sadly  interfered  with  my  standing  business. 
Irving's  kind  and  interesting  conversation  was  the  only  thing  that 
tempted  me,  and  even  this  for  the  present  could  not  have  been  got. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  149 

The  Orator's  whole  heart  and  soul  seemed  for  a  while  to  have  been 
set  on  two  solitary  objects — the  Caledonian  Chapel  and  the  squeal- 
ing brat  of  a  child  which  his  dear  Isabella  brought  him  three 
months  ago.  This  smallest  and  irersJiest  of  his  Majesty's  subjects 
the  worthy  preacher  dandles  and  fondles  and  dry-nurses  and  talks 
about  in  a  way  that  is  piteous  to  behold.  He  speculates  on  the  pro- 
gressive development  of  his  senses,  on  the  state  of  his  bowels,  on  his 
hours  of  rest,  his  pap-spoons  and  his  hippings.  He  asks  you  twenty 
limes  a  day  (me  he  dares  not  ask  any  longer)  if  he  is  not  a  pretty  boy. 
He  even  at  times  attempts  a  hideous  chant  to  the  creature  by  way  of 
lullaby.  Unhappy  gorb  !  I  have  wished  it  farther  than  I  need  re- 
peat at  present.  Its  mewing  used  to  awaken  me  at  night.  Its  his- 
tory keeps  me  silent  by  day.  Now  that  I  am  gone  from  its  sphere  I 
can  wisli  it  well  as  the  offspring  of  my  friend,  whom  after  all  I  do 
not  like  much  the  worse  that  he  is  over-fond  and  foolish  as  a  father. 
In  my  present  situation,  too,  I  can  enjoy  all  that  is  enjoyable  in  his 
company  and  friendship.  This  house  is  within  three  minutes'  walk 
of  his,  where  I  design  to  be  a  frequent  visitor.  They  have  been  kind 
friends  to  me.  I  were  a  worthless  creature  to  forget  them. 

' '  I  expect  to  pass  my  time  neither  unpleasantly  nor  unprofitably 
in  this  city.  I  have  people  enough  here  whom  I  wish  to  see  and 
may  see.  Some  of  them  are  attractive  by  their  talent  and  knowl- 
edge, several  by  their  kindness.  The  Stracheys  I  have  found  to  be 
friendly  in  a  high  degree.  Mrs.  Montagu  (Irving's  'noble  lady,' 
whom  I  do  not  like  as  well  as  Mrs.  S.)  had  a  note  lying  for  me  in 
Dover  inviting  me  in  very  warm  and  high-flown  terms  to  come  and 
live  with  them.  The  Bullers  are  here  at  present;  they  sent  inviting 
me  by  Arthur  their  son  to  come  and  dine  with  them  to-day.  I  would 
not  dint  with  the  King.  But  I  engaged  to  go  and  take  tea.  Badams 
predicts  that  I  will  come  back  to  him;  but  this  I  do  not  expect." 

London  pleased  Carlyle  less  as  he  knew  it  better : 
To  John  Carlyle. 

"23  Southampton  Street:  November  20, 1824. 

"Allen  of  York  is  here  at  present,  setting  up  a  sort  of  'Asylum.' 
He  wishes  me  to  go  out  and  live  with  him  at  his  house  in  Epping 
Forest.  He  will  board  me  and  a  horse  for  40J.  a  year!  That  scheme 
will  not  answer.  There  is  folly  enough  within  my  reach  already 
without  going  to  seek  it  among  the  professedly  insane.  Perhaps  I 
may  go  and  stay  with  him  a  week  or  so  when  I  have  finished  the 
writing  of  this  book.  I  have  yet  made  but  little  progress  in  my  sur- 
vey of  London.  The  weather  has  been  very  unpropitious,  and  I 
have  had  many  things  to  do.  I  have  several  persons  (Mrs.  Montagu, 
Mrs.  Strachey,  Procter,  etc.)  whom  I  call  on  now  and  then,  and  might 
far  oftener  if  I  found  it  useful.  They  are  kind  persons,  particularly 
the  first  two;  but  for  rational  employment  of  my  mind  in  their  com- 
pany there  is  but  very  little.  People  of  elevated  minds  and  clear 
judgment  seem  to  be  as  rare  here  as  in  the  North.  Anything  ap- 
proaching to  a  great  character  is  a  treasure  I  have  yet  to  meet  with. 
Yet  such  is  life.  The  little  that  is  good  in  it  we  ought  to  welcome, 
and  forget  how  much  better  it  might  have  been  when  we  think  how 


150  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

much  worse  it  generally  is.  These  two  women  and  their  families 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  near  relation,  not  a  wandering  stranger.  I 
feel  their  kindness,  and  hope  yet  to  profit  more  by  it.  Basil  Montagu, 
the  husband,  was  described  to  me  as  a  philosopher.  I  find  him  to 

be  an  honest-hearted goose.    Happy  Irving,  who  sees  in  all  his 

friends  the  pink  of  human  excellence;  and  when  he  has  found  the 
nakedness  of  the  land,  can  turn  him  round  and  seek  a  fresh  supply. 
He  is  still  fighting  away  as  valiantly  as  ever — nursing  and  preaching. 
His  popularity  is  growing  steadier,  and  I  think  will  ultimately  settle 
into  something  comfortable  and  accordant  with  the  nature  of  things. 
' '  The  fashionable  people  have  long  ago  forgot  that  he  exists ;  and" 
our  worthy  preacher  has  discovered,  fortunately  not  too  late,  that 
many  things  since  the  Reformation  have  been  more  surprising  than 
to  grow  a  London  lion  for  the  space  of  three  little  months.  I  am 
glad  with  all  my  heart  that  this  insane  work  is  over.  Irving  is  be- 
coming known  to  men  at  large  as  he  is.  The  sceptical  and  literary 
people  find  that  he  is  not  a  quack;  and  they  honor  him,  or  at  least 
let  him  live  at  peace.  There  are  many  persons  of  warm  hearts  and 
half-cultivated  heads  who  love  him  and  admire  him,  and  I  think  will 
stand  by  him  firmly.  All  that  have  ever  known  him  in  private  must 
and  do  like  him.  Delivered  from  the  gross  incense  of  preaching 
popularity,  Irving  will  cultivate  his  mind  in  peace;  and  may  ray  out 
a  profitable  mixture  of  light  and  darkness  upon  a  much  wider  public 
than  he  has  yet  addressed  by  writing.  After  all,  he  is  a  brave  fellow 
— among  the  best,  if  not  the  very  best,  whom  I  have  met  in  life. 
Success  to  him !  for  though  I  laugh  at  him,  I  were  a  dog  if  I  did  not 
love  him.  Speak  not  of  his  popularity.  Your  words  will  be  inter- 
preted to  mean,  not  that  it  is  growing  rational,  but  that  it  is  over. 
At  present  I  reckon  the  appearance  of  it  better  than  it  has  ever  been." 

The  correspondence  with  Miss  Welsh  had  continued  regularly 
since  Carlyle  left  Scotland.  Letters  written  under  such  circum- 
stances are  in  their  nature  private,  and  so  must  for  the  most  part 
remain.  Miss  Welsh,  however,  was  necessarily  a  principal  element 
in  any  scheme  which  Carlyle  might  form  for  his  future  life,  and  to 
her  his  views  were  exposed  without  the  smallest  reserve.  The  pen- 
sions or  sinecures  of  which  her  too  sanguine  expectation  had  dream- 
ed, he  had  known  from  the  first  to  be  illusions.  He  must  live,  if  he 
lived  at  all,  by  his  own  hand.  He  had  begun  to  think  that  both  for 
body  and  mind  London  was  not  the  place  for  him.  He  had  saved 
between  two  and  three  hundred  pounds,  beyond  what  he  had  spent 
upon  his  brothers.  His  tastes  were  of  the  simplest.  The  plainest 
house,  the  plainest  food,  the  plainest  dress,  was  all  that  he  wanted. 
The  literary  men  whom  he  had  met  with  in  the  metropolis  did  not 
please  him.  Some,  like  Hazlitt,  were  selling  their  souls  to  the  peri- 
odical press.  Even  in  Campbell  and  Coleridge  the  finer  powers 
were  dormant  or  paralyzed,  under  the  spell,  it  seemed,  of  London 
and  its  influences.  Southey  and  Wordsworth,  who  could  give  a 
better  account  of  their  abilities,  had  turned  their  backs  upon  the 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  151 

world  with  its  vain  distinctions  and  noisy  flatteries,  and  were  living 
far  away  among  the  lakes  and  mountains.  Carlyle  was  considering 
that  he,  too,  would  be  better  in  Annandale.  He  would  take  a  farm 
and  stock  it.  His  brother  Alexander  would  manage  it  for  him,  while 
he  could  study  and  write.  From  these  two  sources  means  sufficient 
could  easily  be  provided  for  a  simple  and  honorable  existence.  Be- 
fore taking  any  decided  step,  however,  it  was  necessary  to  consult 
the  person  who  had  promised  to  be  his  wife  when  he  should  find 
himself  in  a  condition  to  maintain  her  in  tolerable  comfort.  It  is 
possible — though  speculations  of  an  interested  kind  influenced  Car- 
lyle as  little  as  they  ever  influenced  any  man — that  among  their  re- 
sources he  had  calculated  her  fortune  would  pass  for  something. 
There  had  been  no  occasion  for  her  to  tell  him  precisely  the  disposi- 
tion which  she  had  made  of  it.  He  had  written  to  her  effusively, 
and  she  had  laughed  at  him.  She  had  been  afterwards  slightly  un- 
well, and  had  expressed  penitence  for  her  levity. 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"23  Southampton  Street,  Pentonville:  November  — . 

"Your  sickness  I  have  striven  to  make  light  of.  I  will  not  let 
myself  believe  that  it  is  more  than  temporary  ;  and  the  serious 
mood  you  partly  owe  to  it  is  that  in  which  to  me  you  are  far  more 
interesting. 

"Do  not  mock  and  laugh,  however  gracefully,  when  you  can  help 
it.  For  your  own  sake  I  had  almost  rather  see  you  sad.  It  is  the 
earnest,  affectionate,  warm-hearted,  enthusiastic  Jane  that  I  love. 
The  acute,  sarcastic,  clear-sighted,  derisive  Jane  I  can  at  best  but 
admire.  Is  it  not  a  pity  that  you  had  such  a  turn  that  way  ?  '  Pity 
rather  that  the  follies  of  the  world,  and  yours  among  the  number, 
Mr.  Quack,  should  so  often  call  for  castigation.'  Well,  well !  Be 
it  so,  then.  A  wilful  man,  and  still  more  a  wilful  woman,  will  have 
their  way.  .  .  .  Now  let  us  turn  over  a  new  leaf — a  new  leaf  in  the 
paper,  and  still  more  in  the  subject.  I  am  meditating  with  as  rigid 
an  intensity  as  ever  on  the  great  focus  of  all  purposes  at  present — 
the  arranging  of  my  future  life.  Here  is  no  light  business,  and 
no  want  of  eagerness  in  me  to  see  it  done.  As  yet  I  have  made  no 
way,  or  very  little  ;  but  already  I  am  far  happier  than  I  was,  from 
the  mere  consideration  that  my  destiny,  with  all  its  manifold  entan- 
glements, perplexing  and  tormenting  as  they  are,  is  now  submitted 
to  my  own  management.  Of  my  projects  I  can  give  no  description. 
They  fluctuate  from  day  to  day,  and  many  of  them  are  not  of  a  kind 
to  be  explained  in  writing.  One  item  lies  at  the  bottom  of  almost 
any  scheme  I  form.  It  is  determination  to  have  some  household  of 
my  own ;  some  abode  which  I  may  be  lord  of,  though  it  were  no 
better  than  the  Cynic's  tub;  some  abiding  home  which  I  may  keep 
myself  in  peace  by  the  hope  of  improving — not  of  changing  for  an- 
other. I  have  lived  too  long  in  tents  a  wandering  Bedouin,  the  fruit 
of  my  toils  wasted  or  spent  in  the  day  that  witnessed  them.  I  am 
sick  and  must  recover ;  and  if  so,  sickness  itself  provides  the  helps 


152  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

for  getting  out  of  it.  Till  then  my  mind  lies  spellbound,  the  best 
of  my  talents  (bless  the  mark)  shut  up  even  from  my  own  poor  view, 
and  the  thought  of  writing  anything  beyond  mere  drudgery  is  vain. 
I  see  all  this,  but  I  also  see  the  plan  of  conquering  it  if  it  can  be 
conquered.  I  must  settle  myself  down  within  reach  of  Edinburgh 
or  London.  I  must  divide  my  time  between  mental  and  bodily  ex- 
ercises. If  the  latter  could  be  turned  to  profit,  could  be  regularly 
fixed  and  ordered  by  necessity  of  any  kind,  I  should  regard  the 
point  as  gained.  Had  I  land  of  my  own,  I  should  instantly  be 
tempted  to  become  a — farmer!  Laugh  outright !  But  it  is  very 
true.  I  think  how  I  should  mount  a-horseback  in  the  gray  of  the 
morning  and  go  forth  like  a  destroying  angel  among  my  lazy  hinds, ' 
quickening  every  sluggish  hand,  cultivating  and  cleaning,  tilling 
and  planting,  till  the  place  became  a  very  garden  round  me.  In  the 
intermediate  hours  I  could  work  at  literature;  thus  compelled  to  live 
according  to  the  wants  of  nature,  in  one  twelvemonth  I  should  be 
the  healthiest  man  in  three  parishes,  and  then,  if  I  said  and  did 
nothing  notable,  it  were  my  own  blame  or  nature's  only. 

"This  you  say  is  Utopian  dreaming,  not  the  sober  scheme  of  a 
man  in  his  senses.  I  am  sorry  for  it — sorry  that  nothing  half  so 
likely  to  save  me  comes  within  the  circuit  of  my  capabilities.  A 
sinecure  !  God  bless  thee,  my  darling  !  I  could  not  touch  a  sine- 
cure though  twenty  of  my  friends  should  volunteer  to  offer  it. 
Kdneswegs.  It  is  no  part  of  my  plan  to  eat  the  bread  of  idleness 
so  long  as  I  have  the  force  of  a  sparrow  left  in  me  to  procure  the 
honest  bread  of  industry.  Irving,  too  !  good  Irving  !  His  thoughts 
are  friendly,  but  he  expresses  them  like  a  goose.  '  Help  me  to  the 
uttermost?'  If  he  can  help  himself  to  get  along  the  path  through 
life,  it  is  all  that  I  shall  ask  of  him.  If  his  own  shins  are  safe  at  the 
journey's  end  (a  point  on  which  there  are  many  doubts),  let  him 
hang  a  votive  tablet  up  and  go  to  bed  in  peace.  I  shall  manage 
mine.  There  is  no  use  in  'helps.'  The  grown-up  man  that  cannot 
be  his  own  help  ought  to  solicit  his  discharge  from  the  Church  mili- 
tant, and  turn  him  to  some  middle  region  by  the  earliest  conveyance. 
For  affection,  or  the  faintest  imitation  of  it,  a  man  should  feel  o'bliged 
to  his  very  dog.  But  for  the  gross  assistances  of  patronage  or  purse, 
let  him  pause  before  accepting  them  from  any  one.  Let  him  utterly 
refuse  them  except  from  beings  that  are  enshrined  in  his  heart  of 
hearts,  and  from  whom  no  chance  can  divide  him.  It  is  the  law  in 
Yarmouth  that  every  herring  hang  by  its  own  head.  Except  in  cases 
singularly  wretched  or  singularly  happy,  that  judicious  principle  I 
think  should  also  govern  life." 

A  few  days  later  he  writes  again: 

"Irving  advises  me  to  stay  in  London;  partly  with  a  friendly  feel- 
ing, partly  with  a  half -selfish  one,  for  he  would  fain  keep  me  near 
him.  Among  all  his  followers  there  is  none  whose  intercourse  can 
satisfy  him.  Any  other  than  him  it  would  go  far  to  disgust.  Great 

1  This  is  like  his  "sluttish  harlots"  at  Kinnaird.  How  did  he  know  that  his  hinds 
would  be  lazy?  liut  vehement  language,  which  implied  nothing  but  the  impatience 
and  irritability  of  his  own  mind,  was  as  characteristic  of  Carlyle  as  it  was  of  Johnson. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  153 

part  of  them  are  blockheads,  a  few  are  fools.  There  is  no  rightly 
intellectual  man  among  them.  He  speculates  and  speculates,  and 
would  rather  have  one  contradict  him  rationally  than  gape  at  him 
•with  the  vacant  stare  of  children  viewing  the  Grand  Turk's  palace 
with  his  guards — all  alive  !  He  advises  me,  not  knowing  what  he 
says.  He  himself  has  the  nerves  of  a  buffalo,  and  forgets  that  I 
haVe  not.  His  philosophy  with  me  is  like  a  gill  of  ditch-water 
thrown  into  the  crater  of  Mount  ./Etna.  A  million  gallons  of  it 
would  avail  me  nothing. 

' '  On  the  whole,  however,  he  is  among  the  best  fellows  in  London, 
by  far  the  best  that  I  have  met  with.  Thomas  Campbell  has  a  far 
clearer  judgment,  infinitely  more  taste  and  refinement,  but  there  is 
no  living  well  of  thought  or  feeling  in  him.  His  head  is  a  shop,  not 
a  manufactory ;  and  for  his  heart,  it  is  as  dry  as  a  Greenock  kipper. 
I  saw  him  for  the  second  time  the  other  night.  I  viewed  him  more 
clearly  and  in  a  kindlier  light,  but  scarcely  altered  my  opinion  of 
him.  He  is  not  so  much  a  man  as  the  editor  of  a  magazine.  His 
life  is  that  of  an  exotic.  He  exists  in  London,  as  most  Scotchmen 
do,  like  a  shrub  disrooted  and  stuck  into  a  bottle  of  water.  Poor 
Campbell !  There  were  good  things  in  him  too,  but  fate  has  pressed 
too  heavy  on  him,  or  he  has  resisted  it  too  weakly.  His  poetic  vein 
is  failing,  or  has  run  out.  He  has  a  Glasgow  wife,  and  their  only 
son  is  in  a  state  of  idiocy.  I  sympathized  with  him,  I  could  have 
loved  him,  but  he  has  forgot  the  way  to  love.  Procter  here  has  set 
up  house  on  the  strength  of  his  writing  faculties,  with  his  wife,  a 
daughter  of  the  Noble  Lady.  He  is  a  good-natured  man,  lively  and 
ingenious,  but  essentially  a  small.  Coleridge  is  sunk  inextricably 
in  the  depths  of  putrescent  indolence.  Southey  and  Wordsworth 
have  retired  far  from  the  din  of  this  monstrous  city ;  so  has  Thomas 
Moore.  Whom  have  we  left  ?  The  dwarf  Opium-eater,  my  critic 
in  the  London  Magazine,  lives  here  in  lodgings,  with  a  wife  and 
children  living,  or  starving,  on  the  scanty  produce  of  his  scribble  far 
off  in  Westmoreland.  He  carries  a  laudanum  bottle  in  his  pocket, 

and  the  venom  of  a  wasp  in  his  heart.     A  rascal  ( ),who  writes 

much  of  the  blackguardism  in  filackwood,  has  been  frying  him  to 
cinders  on  the  gridiron  of  John  Bull.  Poor  De  Quincey!  He  had 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  a  liberal  share  of  gifts  from  nat- 
ure. Vanity  and  opium  have  brought  him  to  the  state  of  '  dog  dis- 
tract or  monkey  sick.'  If  I  could  find  him,  it  would  give  me  pleas- 
ure to  procure  him  one  substantial  beefsteak  before  he  dies.  Hazlitt 
is  writing  his  way  through  France  and  Italy.  The  gin-shops  and 
pawnbrokers  bewail  his  absence.  Leigh  Hunt  writes  '  wishing  caps ' 
for  the  Examiner,  and  lives  on  the  lightest  of  diets  at  Pisa.  But 

what  shall  I  say  of  you,  ye  ,  and ,  and ,  and  all  the 

spotted  fry  that  'report'  and  'get  up'  for  the  'public  press,'  that 
earn  money  by  writing  calumnies,  and  spend  it  in  punch  and  other 
viler  objects  of  debauchery  ?  Filthiest  and  basest  of  the  children  of 
men !  My  soul  come  not  into  your  secrets ;  mine  honor  be  not 
united  unto  you !  '  Good  heavens  !'  I  often  inwardly  exclaim,  '  and 
is  this  the  literary  world  ?'  This  rascal  rout,  this  dirty  rabble,  desti- 
tute not  only  of  high  feeling  and  knowledge  or  intellect,  but  even  of 
common  honesty !  The  very  best  of  them  are  ill-natured  weaklings. 


154  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

They  are  not  red-blooded  men  at  all.  They  are  only  things  for 
writing  articles.  But  I  have  done  with  them  for  once.  In  railing 
at  them  let  me  not  forget  that  if  they  are  bad  and  worthless,  I,  as  yet, 
am  nothing ;  and  that  he  who  putteth  on  his  harness  should  not 
boast  himself  as  he  who  putteth  it  off.  Unhappy  souls !  perhaps 
they  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed.  I  do  not  hate  them.  I 
would  only  that  stone  walls  and  iron  bars  were  constantly  between 
us. 

"  Such  is  the  literary  world  of  London ;  indisputably  the  poorest 
part  of  its  population  at  present." 

While  in  this  humor  with  English  men  of  letters,  Carlyle  was  sur- 
prised and  cheered  by  a  letter  from  one  of  the  same  calling  in  an- 
other country,  the  man  whom  above  all  others  he  most  honored  and 
admired,  Goethe  himself.  He  had  sent  a  copy  of  his  translation  of 
"  Meister  "  to  Weimar,  but  no  notice  had  been  taken  of  it,  and  he  had 
ceased  to  expect  any.  "  It  was  like  a  message  from  fairy -land,"  he 
said.  He  could  at  first  scarcely  believe  "that  this  was  the  real  hand 
and  signature  of  that  mysterious  personage  whose  name  had  floated 
through  his  fancy  like  a  sort  of  spell  since  his  boyhood,  whose 
thoughts  had  come  to  him  in  maturer  years  almost  with  the  impres- 
siveness  of  revelations."  An  account  of  this  angel  visitation,  with  a 
copy  of  the  letter  itself,  was  forwarded  to  Mainhill : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Southampton  Street :  December  18. 

"The  other  afternoon,  as  I  was  lying  dozing  in  a  brown-study 
after  dinner,  a  lord's  lackey  knocked  at  the  door  and  presented  me 
with  a  little  blue  parcel,  requiring  for  it  a  note  of  delivery.  I 
opened  it,  and  found  two  pretty  stitched  little  books,  and  a  letter 
from  Goethe !  I  copy  it  and  send  it  for  your  edification.  The  patri- 
archal style  of  it  pleases  me  much  :' 

"  'My  dearest  Sir,— If  I  did  not  acknowledge  on  the  spot  the  arrival  of  yonr  wel- 
come present,  it  was  because  1  was  unwilling  to  send  you  an  empty  acknowledgment 
merely,  but  I  purposed  to  add  some  careful  remarks  on  a  work  so  honorable  to  me. 

"  '  My  advanced  years,  however,  burdened  as  they  are  with  many  indispensable  du- 
ties, have  prevented  me  from  comparing  your  translation  at  my  leisure  with  the  origi- 
nal text — a  more  difficult  undertaking,  perhaps,  for  me  than  for  some  third  person 
thoroughly  familiar  with  German  and  English  literature.  Since,  however,  I  have  at 
the  present  moment  an  opportunity,  through  the  Lords  Bentinck,  of  forwarding  this 
note  safely  to  London,  and  at  the  same  time  of  bringing  about  an  acquaintance  be- 
tween yourself  and  the  Lord  B.  which  may  be  agreeable  to  both  of  you,  I  delay  no 
longer  to  thank  you  for  the  interest  which  you  have  taken  in  my  literary  works  as 
well  as  in  the  incidents  of  my  life,  and  to  entreat  you  earnestly  to  continue  the  same 
interest  for  the  future  also.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  yet  hear  much  of  you.  I  send 
herewith  a  set  of  poems  which  you  will  scarcely  have  seen,  but  with  which  I  venture 
to  hope  that  you  will  feel  a  certain  sympathy.  With  the  most  sincere  good  wishes, 
"  '  Your  most  obedient,  J.  W.  GOETHE.'  ''2 

1  The  translation  is  mine;  Carlyle  copied  the  letter  as  it  was  written. 
a  In  Goethe's  German: 

"  Wenn  ich,  mein  werthestrr  Horr.  tlio  glfieklicho  Ankunfl  Ihrer  willkommpnon 
Sendung  nicht  ungesaumt  anzeigte,  so  war  die  Ursache  dass  ich  nicht  einen  leeren 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  155 

This  is  the  first  of  several  letters  which  Carlyle  received  from 
Goethe  ;  the  earliest  token  of  the  attention  which  he  had  command- 
ed from  the  leader  of  modern  literature,  an  attention  which  deepened 
into  regard  and  admiration  when  the  ' '  Life  of  Schiller "  reached 
Goethe's  hands.  The  acquaintance  which  was  to  prove  mutually 
interesting  came,  of  course,  to  nothing.  Carlyle  heard  no  more  of 
the  "Lord  Bentinck."  The  momentary  consequence  which  attached 
to  him  as  the  correspondent  of  the  poet-minister  of  the  Duke  of 
"Weimar  disappeared  in  England,  where  he  seemed  no  more  than  an 
insignificant,  struggling  individual,  below  the  notice  of  the  privileged 
circles. 

The  annals  of  this  year,  so  eventful  in  Carlyle's  history,  may  close 
with  a  letter  to  him  from  the  poor  farm-house  in  Annandale : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Mainhill :  December  18, 1824. 

"Dear  Son, — I  take  this  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  your  unva- 
rying kindness,  though  I  fear  it  will  hardly  read.  But  never  mind; 
1  know  to  whom  I  am  writing.  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  had  a 
sight  of  each  other;  nevertheless  I  am  often  with  you  in  thought, 
and  I  hope  we  shall  meet  at  a  throne  of  grace  where  there  is  free 
access  to  all  who  come  in  faith.  Tell  me  if  thou  readest  a  chapter 
often.  If  not,  begin;  oh,  do  begin!  How  do  you  spend  the  Sab- 
bath in  that  tumultuous  city?  Oh!  remember  to  keep  it  holy;  this 
you  will  never  repent.  I  think  you  will  be  saying,  'Hold,  mother!' 
but  time  is  short  and  uncertain.  Now,  Tom,  the  best  of  boys  thou 
art  to  me !  Do  not  think  I  am  melancholy,  though  I  so  speak.  Be 
not  uneasy  on  my  account.  I  have  great  reason  to  be  thankful.  I 
am  quite  well,  and  happy  too  when  I  hear  from  London  and  Edin- 
burgh. And  pray  do  not  let  me  want  food :  as  your  father  says,  I 
look  as  if  I  would  eat  your  letters.  Write  everything  and  soon — I 
look  for  one  every  fortnight  till  we  meet.  I  grudge  taking  up  the 
sheet,  so  I  bid  thee  good-night,  and  remain, 

"  Your  affectionate  mother,  MARGARET  CARLYLE." 

P.S.  by  Alexander  Carlyle: 

"  You  are  very  wise,  we  seriously  think,  in  determining  to  live  in 

Kmpfiingsrhein  ausstcllen.  sondern  uher  Ihre  mir  so  ehrenvolle  Arbeit  auch  irgend  ein 
gepruftcs  Wort  beyzufugen  die  Absicht  hatte. 

••  Moino  hohen  Jahre  jedoch  mil  so  vielen  unabwendbaren  Obliegenhciten  immer- 
fort  beladcn,  limderten  niirh  an  oiner  ruhigon  Vergleichung  Ihrer  Bearbeitung  mit 
dem  Originaltext,  welches  vielleicht  fur  mich  einc  selnverere  Aufgabe  seyn  miichte, 
als  fur  irgend  einen  dritten  der  dcutschcn  und  englischen  Literatur  grundlich  Be- 
frenndoten.  Gegenw-irtig  abcr,  da  ich  cine  Gelegenheit  sehe  durch  die  Herren  Grafen 
Bentinck  gpgems'jiriiges  Schroiben  sichor  nach  London  zu  bringen.  und  zugleicu  bei- 
den  Theilen  eine  atigenehme  Uokanntschaft  zu  verschaflen,  so  versfiiime  nicht  ineiuen 
Pauk  fur  Ihre  so  Inuige  Theiliialimc  an  meinen  literurischen  Arbeiten.  sowohl  als  an 
di-n  Sehicksalen  meines  Lebens.  hierduruh  truulich  auszusprechen ;  und  Sie  um  Fort- 
Hct/.uiif;  ili-rselben  auch  fur  die  Zukunfl  angelegentlich  zu  ersuchen.  Vielleicht  er- 
fahre  ich  in  der  Folge  noch  manches  von  Ilinen.  und  ubcrsende  zugleich  mit  dicsem 
eine  Reiho  von  Gedkhteu  welcho  schwcrlich  zu  Ihnen  gekommcn  sind,  von  denen  ich 
aber  hoffen  darf.ilu.ss  sio  Ihncu  einigcs  Intwsse  abgewinueu  werdon.  Hit  den  auf- 
richtigsten  Wuuschen,  Ergebeust,  J.  W.  GOETHE." 


156  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

the  country,  but  how  or  where  I  do  not  pretend  to  say;  perhaps  in 
some  cottage  with  a  grass  park  or  cow  attached  to  it  for  the  nonce, 
and  our  mother  or  Mag  for  house-keeper.  Or  what  say  you  of  farm- 
ing (marrying,  I  dare  not  speak  to  you  about  at  all)?  There  are 
plenty  of  farms  to  let  on  all  sides  of  the  country.  But  tell  me,  are 
the  warm  hearts  of  Mainhill  changed  ?  or  are  they  less  anxious  to 
please?  I  guess  not.  Yet,  after  all,  I  do  often  think  that  you  would 
be  as  comfortable  here  as  anywhere." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
A.D.  1825.     JKS.  30. 

GOETHE'S  letter  was  more  than  a  compliment.  Goethe,  who  did 
not  throw  away  his  words  in  unmeaning  politenesses,  had  noticed 
Carlyle;  and  notice  was  more  welcome  from  such  a  source  than  if 
it  had  come  from  ministers  or  kings.  The  master  had  spoken  ap- 
provingly. The  disciple  was  encouraged  and  invigorated.  He  had 
received  an  earnest  that  his  intellectual  career  would  not  be  a  wholly 
unfruitful  one.  Pleasant  as  it  was,  however,  it  did  not  help  the 
solution  of  the  pressing  problem,  what  was  he  immediately  to  do  ? 
The  prospect  of  a  farm  in  Scotland  became  more  attractive  the  more 
he  thought  of  it.  Freedom,  fresh  air,  plain  food,  and  the  society  of 
healthy,  pious  people,  unspoiled  by  the  world  and  its  contagion — 
with  these  life  might  be  worth  having  and  might  be  turned  to  noble 
uses.  He  had  reflected  much  on  his  engagement  with  Miss  Welsh. 
He  had  felt  that  perhaps  he  had  done  wrong  in  allowing  her  to 
entangle  herself  with  a  person  whose  future  was  so  uncertain,  and 
whose  present  schemes,  even  if  realized  successfully,  would  throw 
her,  if  she  married  him,  into  a  situation  so  unlike  what  she  had  an- 
ticipated, so  unlike  the  surroundings  to  which  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed. In  his  vehement  way  he  had  offered  to  release  her  if  she 
wished  it;  and  she  had  unhesitatingly  refused.  As  little,  however, 
was  her  ambition  gratified  with  the  prospect  of  being  mistress  of  a 
Scotch  farm.  She  had  mocked  at  his  proposal.  She  had  pointed 
out  with  serious  truth  his  own  utter  unfitness  for  a  farmer's  occupa- 
tion. She  had  jestingly  told  him  that  she  had  land  of  her  own  at 
Craigenputtock.  The  tenant  was  leaving.  If  he  was  bent  on  try- 
ing, let  him  try  Craigenputtock.  He  took  her  jest  in  earnest.  Why 
should  he  not  farm  Craigenputtock?  Why  should  not  she,  as  she 
was  still  willing  to  be  his  life  companion,  live  with  him  there  ?  Her 
father  had  been  born  in  the  old  manor-house,  and  had  intended  to 
end  his  days  there.  To  himself  the  moorland  life  would  be  only  a 
continuance  of  the  same  happy  mode  of  existence  which  he  had 
known  at  Mainhill.  In  such  a  household,  and  in  the  discharge  of 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  157 

the  commonest  duties,  he  had  seen  his  mother  become  a  very  para- 
gon of  women.  He  did  not  understand,  or  he  did  not  wish  to  un- 
derstand, that  a  position  which  may  be  admirably  suited  to  a  person 
who  has  known  no  other,  might  be  ill-adapted  to  one  who  had  been 
bred  in  luxury  and  had  never  known  a  want  uncared  for.  The 
longer  he  reflected  on  it,  the  more  desirable  the  plan  of  taking 
Craigenputtock  appeared  to  him  to  be. 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"  Pentonville  :  January  9,  1825. 

"I  trust  that  the  same  cheerful  spirit  of  affection  which  breathes 
in  every  line  of  your  last  charming  letter  still  animates  you,  and  dis- 
poses you  kindly  towards  me.  I  have  somewhat  to  propose  to  you 
which  it  may  require  all  your  love  of  me  to  make  you  look  upon 
with  favor.  If  you  are  not  the  best  woman  in  the  world,  it  may 
prove  a  sorry  business  for  both  of  us. 

"You  bid  me  tell  you  how  I  have  decided — what  I  mean  to  do. 
It  is  you  that  must  decide.  I  will  endeavor  to  explain  to  you  what 
I  wish ;  it  must  rest  with  you  to  say  whether  it  can  ever  be  attained. 
You  tell  me  you  have  land  which  needs  improvement.  Why  not 
work  on  that  ?  In  one  word,  then,  will  you  go  with  me  ?  Will  you 
be  my  own  forever  ?  Say  yes,  and  I  embrace  the  project  with  my 
whole  heart.  I  send  my  brother  Alick  over  to  rent  that  Nithsdale 
farm  for  me  without  delay;  I  proceed  to  it  the  moment  I  am  freed 
from  my  engagements  here;  I  labor  in  arranging  it,  and  fitting  ev- 
erything for  your  reception;  and  the  instant  it  is  ready  I  take  you 
home  to  my  hearth,  never  more  to  part  from  me,  whatever  fate  be- 
tide us. 

"I  fear  you  think  this  scheme  a  baseless  vision;  and  yet  it  is  the 
sober  best  among  the  many  I  have  meditated — the  best  for  me,  and 
I  think  also,  so  far  as  I  can  judge  of  it,  for  yourself.  If  it  take  effect 
and  be  well  conducted,  I  look  upon  the  recovery  of  my  health  and 
equanimity,  and  with  these,  of  regular  profitable  and  natural  habits 
of  activity,  as  things  which  are  no  longer  doubtful.  I  have  lost  them 
by  departing  from  Nature ;  I  must  find  them  by  returning  to  her.  A 
stern  experience  has  taught  me  this,  and  I  am  a  fool  if  I  dp  not  profit 
by  the  lesson.  Depend  upon  it,  Jane,  this  literature  which  both  of 
us  are  so  bent  on  pursuing  will  not  constitute  the  sole  nourishment 
of  any  true  human  spirit.  No  truth  has  been  forced  upon  me,  after 
more  resistance,  or  with  more  invincible  impressiveness,  than  this. 
I  feel  it  in  myself.  I  see  it  daily  in  others.  Literature  is  the  wine 
of  life.  It  will  not,  cannot  be  its  food.  What  is  it  that  makes  blue- 
stockings of  women,  magazine  hacks  of  men?  They  neglect  house- 
hold and  social  duties.  They  have  no  household  and  social  enjoy- 
ments. Life  is  no  longer  with  them  a  verdant  field,  but  a  hortw 
sicctis.  They  exist  pent  up  in  noisome  streets,  amid  feverish  excite- 
ments. .  They  despise  or  overlook  the  common  blessedness  which 
Providence  has  laid  out  for  all  his  creatures,  and  try  to  substitute 
for  it  a  distilled  quintessence  prepared  in  the  alembic  of  painters  and 
rhymers  and  sweet  singers.  What  is  the  result?  This  ardent  spirit 
parches  up  their  nature.  They  become  discontented  and  despicable. 
I. -8 


158  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

or  wretched  and  dangerous.  Byron  and  all  strong  souls  go  the  lat- 
ter way.  Campbell  and  all  the  weak  souls  the  former.  '  Hinaus !' 
as  the  Devil  says  to  Faust.  '  Hinaus  ins  freie  Feld !'  There  is  no 
soul  in  these  vapid  'articles'  of  yours.  Away!  be  men  before  at- 
tempting to  be  writers. 

"  You,  too,  are  unhappy,  and  I  see  the  reason.  You  have  a  deep, 
earnest,  and  vehement  spirit,  and  no  earnest  task  has  ever  been  as- 
signed it.  You  despise  and  ridicule  the  meanness  of  the  things 
about  you.  To  the  things  you  honor  you  can  only  pay  a  fervent  ad- 
oration which  issues  in  no  practical  effect.  Oh  that  I  saw  you  the 
mistress  of  a  house  diffusing  over  human  souls  that  loved  you  those 
clear  faculties  of  order,  judgment,  elegance,  which  you  are  now  re- 
duced to  spend  on  pictures  and  portfolios ;  blessing  living  hearts 
with  that  enthusiastic  love  which  you  must  now  direct  to  the  distant 
and  dimly  seen.  All  this  is  in  you.  You  have  a  heart  and  an  intel- 
lect and  a  resolute  decision  which  might  make  you  the  model  of 
wives,  however  widely  your  thoughts  and  your  experience  have 
hitherto  wandered  from  that  highest  distinction  of  the  noblest  wom- 
en. I,  too,  have  wandered  wide  and  far.  Let  us  return ;  let  us  re- 
turn together.  Let  us  learn  through  one  another  what  it  is  to  live. 
Let  us  set  our  minds  and  habitudes  in  order,  and  grow  under  the 
peaceful  sunshine  of  nature,  that  whatever  fruit  or  flowers  have  been 
implanted  in  our  spirits  may  ripen  wholesomely  and  be  distributed 
in  due  season.  What  is  genius  but  the  last  perfection  of  true  man- 
hood? the  pure  reflection  of  a  spirit  in  union  with  itself,  discharging 
all  common  duties  with  more  than  common  excellence;  extracting 
from  the  many-colored  scenes  of  life  in  which  it  mingles  the  beauti- 
fying principle  which  more  or  less  pervades  them  all  ?  The  rose  in 
its  full-blown  fragrance  is  the  glory  of  the  fields ;  but  there  must  be 
a  soil  and  stem  and  leaves,  or  there  will  be  no  rose.  Your  mind  and 
my  own  have  in  them  many  capabilities;  but  the  first  of  all  their  du- 
ties is  to  provide  for  their  own  regulation  and  contentment.  If  there 
be  an  overplus  to  consecrate  to  higher  ends  it  will  not  fail  to  show 
itself.  If  there  be  none,  it  were  better  it  should  never  attempt  to 
show  itself. 

"But  I  must  leave  these  generalities  and  avoid  romance,  for  it  is 
an  earnest,  practical  affair  we  are  engaged  in,  and  requires  sense 
and  regulation,  not  poetries  and  enthusiasm.  'Where,  then,'  you 
ask  me,  '  are  the  means  of  realizing  these  results,  of  mastering  the 
difficulties  and  deficiencies  that  beset  us  both?'  This,  too,  I  have 
considered;  the  black  catalogue  of  impediments  have  passed  again 
and  again  in  review  before  me,  but  on  the  whole  I  do  not  think  them 
insurmountable.  If  you  will  undertake  to  be  my  faithful  helper,  as 
I  will  all  my  life  be  yours,  .1  fear  not  to  engage  with  them. 

"  The  first,  the  lowest,  but  a  most  essential  point,  is  that  of  funds. 
On  this  matter  I  have  still  little  to  tell  you  that  you  do  not  know.  I 
feel  in  general  that  I  have  ordinary  faculties  in  me,  and  an  ordinary 
degree  of  diligence  in  using  them,  and  that  thousands  manage  life 
in  comfort  with  even  slenderer  resources.  In  my  present  state  my 
income,  though  small,  might  to  reasonable  wishes  be  sufficient ;  were 
my  health  and  faculties  restored,  it  might  become  abundant.  Shall 
I  confess  to  you  this  is  a  dilliculty  which  we  are  apt  to  overrate? 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  159 

The  essentials  of  even  elegant  comfort  are  not  difficult  to  procure. 
It  is  only  vanity  that  is  insatiable  in  consuming.  To  my  taste  clean- 
liness and  order  are  far  beyond  gilding  and  grandeur,  which  with- 
out them  is  an  abomination ;  and  for  displays,  for  festivals,  and  par- 
ties I  believe  you  are  as  indisposed  as  myself.  What  is  the  use  of 
this  same  vanity?  Where  is  the  good  of  being  its  slaves?  If  thou 
and  I  love  one  another,  if  we  discharge  our  duties  faithfully  and 
steadfastly,  one  laboring  with  honest,  manful  zeal  to  provide,  the 
other  with  noble  wife-like  prudence  in  dispensing,  have  we  not  done 
all  we  can?  Are  we  not  acquitted  at  the  bar  of  our  own  conscience? 
And  what  is  it  to  us  whether  this  or  that  Squire  or  Bailie  be  richer 
or  poorer  than  we? 

"  Two  laws  I  have  laid  down  to  myself — that  I  must  and  will  re- 
cover health,  without  which  to  think  or  even  to  live  is  burdensome 
or  unprofitable;  and  that  I  will  not  degenerate  into  the  wretched 
thing  which  calls  itself  an  author  in  our  capitals,  and  scribbles  for  the 
sake  of  lucre  in  the  periodicals  of  the  day.  Thank  Heaven,  there 
are  other  means  of  living.  If  there  were  not,  I  for  one  should  beg 
to  be  excused.  ...  On  the  whole  I  begin  to  entertain  a  certain  de- 
gree of  contempt  for  the  destiny  which  has  so  long  persecuted  me. 
1  will  be  a  man  in  spite  of  it.  Yet  it  lies  with  you  whether  I  shall  be 
a  right  man,  or  only  a  hard  and  bitter  Stoic.  What  say  you  ?  De- 
cide for  yourself  and  me.  Consent  if  you  dare  trust  me,  and  let  us 
live  and  die  together.  Yet  fear  not  to  deny  me  if  your  judgment  so 
determine.  It  will  be  a  sharp  pang  that  tears  away  from  me  forever 
the  hope  which  now  for  years  has  been  the  solace  of  my  existence; 
but  better  to  endure  it  and  all  its  consequences  than  to  witness  and  to 
cause  the  forfeit  of  your  happiness.  At  times,  I  confess,  when  I  hear 
you  speak  of  your  gay  cousins,  and  contrast  with  their  brilliant  equip- 
ments my  own  simple  exterior  and  scanty  prospects,  and  humble,  but 
to  me  most  dear  and  honorable-minded  kinsmen,  whom  I  were  the 
veriest  dog  if  1  ceased  to  love  and  venerate  and  cherish  for  their  true 
affection  and  the  rugged  sterling  worth  of  their  character — when  I 
think  of  all  this  I  could  almost  counsel  you  to  cast  me  utterly  away, 
and  to  connect  yourself  with  one  whose  friends  and  station  are  more 
analogous  to  your  own.  But  anon  in  some  moment  of  self-love,  I 
say  proudly  there  is  a  spirit  in  me  which  is  worthy  of  this  maiden, 
which  shall  be  worthy  of  her.  I  will  teach  her,  I  will  guide  her,  I 
will  make  her  happy.  Together  we  will  share  the  joys  and  sorrows 
of  existence. 

"Speak,  then.  .  .  .  Think  well  of  me,  of  yourself ,  of  our  circum- 
stances, and  determine — Dare  you  trust  me,  dare  you  trust  your  fate 
with  me,  as  I  trust  mine  with  you  ?  Judge  if  I  wait  your  answer 
with  impatience.  I  know  you  will  not  keep  me  waiting.  Of  course 
it  will  be  necessary  to  explain  all  things  to  your  mother,  and  take  her 
serious  advice  respecting  them.  For  your  other  friends,  it  is  not 
worth  while  consulting  one  of  them.  I  know  not  that  there  is  one 
among  them  that  would  give  you  as  disinterested  advice  as  even  I, 
judging  in  my  own  cause.  May  God  bless  you  and  direct  you.  De- 
cide as  you  will." 

Miss  Welsh,  after  having  lost  Irving,  had  consented  to  be  Carlyle's 


160  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

wife  as  soon  as  he  was  in  a  fair  position  to  marry,  in  the  conviction 
that  she  was  connecting  herself  with  a  man  who  was  destined  to  be- 
come brilliantly  distinguished,  whom  she  honored  for  his  character 
and  admired  for  his  gifts,  in  whose  society  and  in  whose  triumphs 
she  would  find  a  compensation  for  the  disappointment  of  her  earlier 
hopes.  She  was  asked  in  this  letter  to  be  the  mistress  of  a  moorland 
farming  establishment.  Had  she  felt  towards  Carlyle  as  she  had  felt 
towards  his  friend,  she  would  perhaps  have  encountered  cheerfully 
any  lot  which  was  to  be  shared  with  the  object  of  a  passionate  affec- 
tion. But  the  indispensable  feeling  was  absent.  She  was  invited  to 
relinquish  her  station  in  society,  and  resign  comforts  which  habit  had 
made  necessary  to  her,  and  she  was  apparently  to  sacrifice  at  the  same 
time  the  very  expectations  which  had  brought  her  to  regard  a  mar- 
riage with  Carlyle  as  a  possibility.  She  knew  better  than  he  what 
was  really  implied  in  the  situation  which  he  offered  her.  She  knew 
that  if  farming  on  a  Scotch  moor  was  to  be  a  successful  enterprise, 
it  would  not  be  by  morning  rides,  metaphorical  vituperation  of  "  lazy 
hinds, "and  forenoons  and  evenings  given  up  to  poetry  and  philoso- 
phy. Both  he  and  she  would  have  to  work  with  all  their  might, 
and  with  their  own  hands,  with  all  their  time  and  all  their  energy,  to 
the  extinction  of  every  higher  ambition.  Carlyle  himself  also  she 
knew  to  be  entirely  unfit  for  any  such  occupation.  The  privations 
of  it  might  be  nothing  to  him,  for  he  was  used  to  them  at  home,  but 
he  would  have  to  cease  to  be  himself  before  he  could  submit  patient- 
ly to  a  life  of  mechanical  drudgery.  She  told  him  the  truth  with  the 
merciless  precision  which  on  certain  occasions  distinguished  her: 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  Haddington :  January  13, 1825. 

"I  little  thought  that  my  joke  about  your  farming  Craigenputtock 
was  to  be  made  the  basis  of  such  a  serious  and  extraordinary  project. 
If  you  had  seen  the  state  of  perplexity  which  your  letter  has  thrown 
me  into,  you  would  have  practised  any  self-denial  rather  than  have 
written  it.  But  there  is  no  use  in  talking  of  what  is  done.  Cosa 
fatta  IM  capo.  The  thing  to  be  considered  now  is  what  to  do. 

"You  have  sometimes  asked  me  did  I  ever  think  ?  For  once  in 
my  life  at  least  I  have  thought  myself  into  a  vertigo,  and  without 
coming  to  any  positive  conclusion.  However,  my  mind,  such  as  it 
is,  on  the  matter  you  have  thus  precipitately  forced  on  my  consid- 
eration I  will  explain  to  you  frankly  and  explicitly,  as  the  happiness 
of  us  both  requires.  I  love  you,  and  I  should  be  the  most  ungrate- 
ful and  injudicious  of  mortals  if  I  did  not.  But  I  am  not  in  lore 
with  you ;  that  is  to  say,  my  love  for  you  is  not  a  passion  which 
overclouds  my  judgment  and  absorbs  all  my  regards  for  myself  and 
others.  It  is  a  simple,  honest,  serene  affection,  made  up  of  admira- 
tion and  sympathy,  and  better  perhaps  to  found  domestic  enjoyment 
on  than  any  other.  In  short,  it  is  a  love  which  influences,  does  not 
make,  the  destiny  of  a  life. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  161 

"Such  temperate  sentiments  lend  no  false  coloring,  no  'rosy 
light '  to  your  project.  I  see  it  such  as  it  is,  with  all  the  arguments 
for  and  against  it.  I  see  that  my  consent  under  existing  circum- 
stances would  indeed  secure  to  me  the  only  fellowship  and  support 
I  have  found  in  the  world,  and  perhaps,  too,  shed  some  sunshine  of 
joy  on  your  existence,  which  has  hitherto  been  sullen  and  cheerless; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  that  it  would  involve  you  and  myself  in 
numberless  cares  and  difficulties,  and  expose  me  to  petty  tribulations 
which  I  want  fortitude  to  despise,  and  which,  not  despised,  would 
embitter  the  peace  of  us  both.  I  do  not  wish  for  fortune  more  than 
is  sufficient  for  my  wants — my  natural  wants,  and  the  artificial  ones 
which  habit  has  rendered  nearly  as  importunate  as  the  others.  But 
I  will  not  marry  to  live  on  less  ;  because,  in  that  case,  every  incon- 
venience I  was  subjected  to  would  remind  me  of  what  I  had  quitted, 
and  the  idea  of  a  sacrifice  should  have  no  place  in  a  voluntary  union. 
Neither  have  I  any  wish  for  grandeur ;  the  glittering  baits  of  titles 
and  honors  are  only  for  children  and  fools.  But  I  conceive  it  a 
duty  which  every  one  owes  to  society,  not  to  throw  up  that  station 
in  it  which  Providence  has  assigned  him,  and,  having  this  convic- 
tion, I  could  not  marry  into  a  station  inferior  to  my  own  with  the 
approval  of  my  judgment,  which  alone  could  enable  me  to  brave  the 
censures  of  my  acquaintance. 

' '  And  now  let  me  ask  you,  have  you  any  certain  livelihood  to 
maintain  me  in  the  manner  I  have  been  used  to  live  in  ?  any  fixed 
place  in  the  rank  of  society  I  have  been  born  and  bred  in  ?  No. 
You  have  projects  for  attaining  both,  capabilities  for  attaining  both, 
and  much  more.  But  as  yet  you  have  not  attained  them.  Lse  the 
noble  gifts  which  God  has  given  you.  You  have  prudence — though, 
by-the-way,  this  last  proceeding  is  no  great  proof  of  it.  Devise  then 
how  you  may  gain  yourself  a  moderate  but  settled  income.  Think 
of  some  more  promising  plan  than  farming  the  most  barren  spot  in 
the  county  of  Dumfriesshire.  What  a  thing  that  would  be  to  be 
sure !  You  and  I  keeping  house  at  Craigenputtock !  I  would  as 
soon  think  of  building  myself  a  nest  on  the  Bass  rock.  Nothing 
but  your  ignorance  of  the  spot  saves  you  from  the  imputation  of 
insanity  for  admitting  such  a  thought.  Depend  upon  it  you  could 
not  exfst  there  a  twelvemonth.  For  my  part  I  could  not  spend  a 
month  at  it  with  an  angel.  Think  of  something  else  then.  Apply 
your  industry  to  carry  it  into  effect ;  your  talents,  to  gild  over  the 
inequality  of  our  births — and  then  we  will  talk  of  marrying.  If  all 
this  were  realized,  I  think  I  should  have  good-sense  enough  to  abate 
something  of  my  romantic  ideal,  and  to  content  myself  with  stop- 
ping short  on  this  side  idolatry.  At  all  events  I  will  marry  no  one 
(1-c.  This  is  all  the  promise!  can  or  will  make.  A  positive  en- 
gagement to  marry  a  certain  person  at  a  certain  time,  at  all  haps  and 
ha/.ards,  I  have  always  considered  the  most  ridiculous  thing  on  earth. 
It  is  either  altogether  useless  or  altogether  miserable.  If  the  parties 
continue  faithfully  attached  to  each  other,  it  is  a  mere  ceremony. 
If  otherwise,  it  becomes  a  fetter,  riveting  them  to  wretchedness, 
and  only  to  be  broken  with  disgrace. 

"  Such  is  the  result  of  my  deliberations  on  this  very  serious  sub- 
ject. You  may  approve  of  it  or  not,  but  you  cannot  either  persuade 


162  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

me  or  convince  me  out  of  it.  My  decisions,  when  I  do  decide,  are 
unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians.  Write  instantly, 
and  tell  me  that  you  are  content  to  leave  the  event  to  time  and 
destiny,  and  in  the  mean  while  to  continue  my  friend  and  guardian, 
which  you  have  so  long  faithfully  been,  and  nothing  more. 

"It  would  be  more  agreeable  to  etiquette,  and  perhaps  also  to 
prudence,  that  I  should  adopt  no  middle  course  in  an  affair  such  as 
this ;  that  I  should  not  for  another  instant  encourage  an  affection 
which  I  may  never  reward,  and  a  hope  I  may  never  fulfil,  but  cast 
your  heart  away  from  me  at  once,  since  I  cannot  embrace  the  reso- 
lution which  would  give  me  a  right  to  it  forever.  This  I  would  as- 
suredly do  if  you  were  like  the  generality  of  lovers,  or  if  it  were  still 
in  my  power  to  be  happy  independent  of  your  affection.  But,  as  it 
is,  neither  etiquette  nor  prudence  can  obtain  this  of  me.  If  there  is 
any  change  to  be  made  in  the  terms  on  which  we  have  so  long  lived 
with  one  another,  it  must  be  made  by  you,  not  by  me." 

An  ordinary  person  who  had  ventured  to  make  such  a  proposal  as 
Miss  Welsh  had  declined,  would  have  been  supremely  foolish  if  he 
had  supposed  that  it  could  be  acceded  to  ;  or  supremely  selfish  if  he 
had  possessed  sufficient  influence  with  the  lady  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressing to  induce  her  to  listen  to  it.  But  Carlyle  was  in  every  way 
peculiar.  Selfish  he  was,  if  it  be  selfishness  to  be  ready  to  sacrifice 
every  person  dependent  on  him,  as  completely  as  he  sacrificed  him- 
self, to  the  aims  to  which  he  had  resolved  to  devote  his  life  and  tal- 
ents. But  these  objects  were  of  so  rare  a  nature,  that  the  person 
capable  of  pursuing  and  attaining  them  must  be  judged  by  a  stand- 
ard of  his  own.  His  rejoinder  to  this  letter  throws  a  light  into  the 
inmost  constitution  of  his  character.  He  thanked  Miss  Welsh  for 
her  candor ;  he  was  not  offended  at  her  resoluteness ;  but  also,  he 
said,  he  must  himself  be  resolute.  She  showed  that  she  did  not  un- 
derstand him.  He  was  simply  conscious  that  he  possessed  powers 
for  the  use  of  which  he  was  responsible,  and  he  could  not  afford  to 
allow  those  powers  to  run  to  waste  any  longer : 

To  Miss  WeM. 

"Pentonville:  January  20, 1825. 

"It  were  easy  for  me  to  plant  myself  \ipon  the  pinnacle  of  my  own 
poor  selfishness,  and  utter  a  number  of  things  proceeding  from  a  very 
vulgar  sort  of  pride.  It  were  easy  also  to  pour  out  over  the  affair  a 
copious  effusion  of  sentimental  cant.  But  to  express  in  simplicity 
the  convictions  of  a  man  wishing  at  least  with  his  whole  heart  to  act 
as  becomes  him,  is  not  easy.  Grant  me  a  patient  hearing,  for  I  have 
things  to  say  that  require  earnest  consideration  from  us  both. 

"In  the  first  place,  however,  I  must  thank  you  heartily  for  your 
candor.  Your  letter  bears  undoubted  evidence  within  itself  of  being 
a  faithful  copy  of  your  feelings  at  the  moment  it  was  written ;  and 
this  to  me  is  an  essential  point.  Your  resoluteness  does  not  offend 
me  ;  on  the  contrary  I  applaud  it.  Woe  to  us  both  if  we  cannot  be 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  163 

resolute.  The  miserable  man  is  he  who  halts  between  two  opinions, 
•who  would  and  would  not ;  who  longs  for  the  merchandise  and  will 
not  part  with  the  price.  He  who  has  dared  to  look  his  destiny,  how- 
ever frightful,  steadfastly  in  the  face,  to  measure  his  strength  with 
its  dime  allies,  and  once  for  all  to  give  up  what  he  cannot  reach, 
has  already  ceased  to  be  miserable. 

"  Your  letter  is  dictated  by  good-sense  and  sincerity;  but  it  shows 
me  that  you  have  only  an  imperfect  view  of  my  present  purposes 
and  situation ;  there  are  several  mistakes  in  it,  expressed  or  implied. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  want  of  self-denial  had  any  material 
share  in  causing  this  proposal.  I  hope  that  I  should  at  all  times 
rather  suffer  pain  myself  than  transfer  it  to  you ;  but  here  was  a 
very  different  case.  For  these  many  months  the  voice  of  every  per- 
suasion in  my  conscience  has  been  thundering  to  me  as  with  the 
Trump  of  the  Archangel  :  Man  !  thou  art  going  to  destruction. 
Thy  nights  and  days  are  spent  in  torment ;  thy  heart  is  wasting  into 
entire  bitterness.  Thou  art  making  less  of  life  than  the  dog  that 
sleeps  upon  thy  hearth.  Up,  hapless  mortal !  Up  and  rebuild  thy 
destiny  if  thou  canst !  Up  in  the  name  of  God,  that  God  who  sent 
thee  hither  for  other  purposes  than  to  wander  to  and  fro,  bearing 
the  fire  of  hell  in  an  uuguilty  bosom,  to  suffer  in  vain  silence,  and  to 
die  without  ever  having  lived !  Now,  in  exploring  the  chaotic  struct- 
ure of  my  fortunes,  I  find  my  affection  for  you  intertwined  with 
every  part  of  it ;  connected  with  whatever  is  holiest  in  my  feelings 
or  most  imperative  in  my  duties.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  under- 
stand completely  how  this  matter  stands  ;  to  investigate  my  own 
wishes  and  powers  in  regard  to  it ;  to  know  of  you  both  what  you 
will  do  and  what  you  will  not  do.  These  things  once  clearly  set- 
tled, our  line  of  conduct  will  be  clear  also.  It  was  in  such  a  spirit 
that  I  made  this  proposal ;  not,  as  you  suppose,  grounded  on  a  casual 
jest  of  yours,  or  taken  up  in  a  moment  of  insane  selfishness ;  but  de- 
liberated with  such  knowledge  as  I  had  of  it  for  months,  and  calmly 
decided  on,  as  with  all  its  strangeness  absolutely  the  best  for  both  of 
us.  There  was  nothing  in  it  of  the  love  and  cottage  theory,  which 
none  but  very  young  novel-writers  now  employ  their  thoughts  about. 
Had  3-ou  accepted  it  I  should  not  by  any  means  have  thought  the 
battle  won.  I  should  have  hailed  your  assent,  and  the  disposition 
of  mind  it  bespoke,  with  a  deep  but  serious  joy;  with  a  solemn  hope 
as  indicating  the  distinct  possibility  that  two  true  hearts  might  be 
united  and  made  happy  through  each  other  ;  might  by  their  joint, 
unwearied  efforts  be  transplanted  from  the  barren  wilderness,  where 
both  seemed  out  of  place,  into  scenes  of  pure  and  wholesome  activ- 
ity, such  as  nature  fitted  both  of  them  to  enjoy  and  adorn.  You 
have  rejected  it,  I  think,  wisely;  with  your  actual  purposes  and 
views  we  should  both  have  been  doubly  wretched  had  you  acted 
otherwise.  Your  love  of  me  is  completely  under  the  control  of 
judgment  and  subordinated  to  other  principles  of  duty  or  expedi- 
ency. Your  happiness  is  not  by  any  means  irretrievably  connected 
with  mine.  Believe  me,  I  am  not  hurt  or  angry.  I  merely  wished 
to  know.  It  was  only  in  brief  moments  of  enthusiasm  that  I  ever 
looked  for  a  different  result.  My  plan  was  no  wise  one  if  it  did  not 
include  the  chance  of  your  denial  as  well  as  that  of  your  assent. 


164  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"  The  maxims  you  proceed  by  are  those  of  common  and  acknowl- 
edged prudence;  and  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  not  wise  in  you  to  walk 
exclusively  by  them.  But  for  me,  my  case  is  peculiar ;  and  unless  I 
adopt  other  than  common  maxims,  I  look  upon  my  ruin  as  already 
sure.  In  fact,  I  cannot  but  perceive  that  the  stations  from  which 
we  have  looked  at  life,  and  formed  our  schemes  of  it,  are  in  your 
case  and  mine  essentially  different.  You  have  a  right  to  anticipate 
excitement  and  enjoyment.  The  highest  blessing  I  anticipate  is 
peace.  You  are  bound  to  pay  deference  to  the  criticisms  of  others, 
and  expect  their  approbation;  I,  to  pay  comparatively  little  defer- 
ence to  their  criticisms,  and  to  overlook  their  contempt.  This  is 
not  strange;  but  it  accounts  for  the  wide  discrepancy  in  our  prin- 
ciples and  intentions,  and  demands  the  serious  study  of  us  both. 

"In  your  opinion  about  sacrifices, felt  to  be  such,  I  entirely  agree; 
but  at  the  same  time  need  I  remind  your  warm  and  generous  heart 
that  the  love  which  will  not  make  sacrifices  to  its  object  is  no  proper 
love?  Grounded  in  admiration  and  the  feeling  of  enjoyment,  it  is  a 
fit  love  for  a  picture  or  a  statue  or  a  poem ;  but  for  a  living  soul  it 
is  not  fit.  Alas!  without  deep  sacrifices  on  both  sides,  the  possibili- 
ty of  our  union  is  an  empty  dream.  It  remains  for  us  both  to  de- 
termine what  extent  of  sacrifices  it  is  worth.  To  me,  I  confess  the 
union  with  such  a  spirit  as  yours  might  be,  is  worth  all  price  but 
the  sacrifice  of  those  very  principles  which  would  enable  me  to  de- 
serve and  enjoy  it. 

"Then  why  not  make  an  effort,  attain  rank  and  wealth,  and  con- 
fidently ask  what  is  or  might  be  so  precious  to  me?  Now,  my  best 
friend,  are  you  sure  that  you  have  ever  formed  to  yourself  a  true 
picture  of  me  and  my  circumstances ;  of  a  man  who  has  spent  seven 
long  years  in  incessant  torture,  till  his  heart  and  head  are  alike  dark- 
ened and  blasted,  and  who  sees  no  outlet  from  this  state  but  in  a  to- 
tal alteration  of  the  purposes  and  exertions  which  brought  it  on?  I 
must  not  and  cannot  continue  this  sort  of  life;  my  patience  with  it 
is  utterly  gone.  It  were  better  for  me  on  the  soberest  calculation 
to  be  dead  than  to  continue  it  much  longer.  Even  of  my  existing 
capabilities  I  can  make  no  regular  or  proper  use  till  it  is  altered. 
These  capabilities,  I  have  long  seen  with  regret,  are  painted  in  your 
kind  fancy  under  far  too  favorable  colors.  I  am  not  without  a  cer- 
tain consciousness  of  the  gifts  that  are  in  me ;  but  I  should  mistake 
their  nature  widely,  if  I  calculated  they  would  ever  guide  me  to  wealth 
and  preferment,  or  even  certainly  to  literary  fame.  As  yet  the  best 
of  them  is  very  immature;  and  even  if  they  should  come  forth  in 
full  strength,  it  must  be  to  other  and  higher  ends  that  they  are  di- 
rected. How  then?  "Would  I  invite  a  generous  spirit  out  of  afflu- 
ence and  respectability  to  share  with  me  obscurity  and  poverty? 
Not  so.  In  a  few  months  I  might  be  realizing  from  literature  and 
other  kindred  exertions  the  means  of  keeping  poverty  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance. The  elements  of  real  comfort,  which  in  your  vocabulary  and 
mine,  I  think,  has  much  the  same  meaning,  might  be  at  my  disposal ; 
and  farther  than  this  I  should  think  it  injudicious  to  expect  that  ex- 
ternal circumstances  could  materially  assist  me  in  the  conduct  of 
life.  The  rest  must  depend  upon  myself  and  the  regulation  of  my 
own  affections  and  habits. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  165 

"  Now  this  is  what  I  would  do  were  it  in  my  power.  I  would  ask 
a  generous  spirit,  one  whose  happiness  depended  on  seeing  me  hap- 
py, and  whose  temper  and  purposes  were  of  kindred  to  my  own — 
I  would  ask  such  a  noble  being  to  let  us  unite  our  resources — not 
her  wealth  and  rank  merely,  for  these  were  a  small  and  unessential 
fraction  of  the  prayer,  but  her  judgment,  her  patience,  prudence,  her 
true  affection,  to  mine;  and  let  us  try  if  by  neglecting  what  was  not 
important,  and  striving  with  faithful  and  inseparable  hearts  after 
what  was,  we  could  not  rise  above  the  miserable  obstructions  that 
beset  us  both  into  regions  of  serene  dignity,  living  as  became  us  in 
the  sight  of  God,  and  all  reasonable  men,  happier  than  millions  of 
our  brethren,  and  each  acknowledging  with  fervent  gratitude  that 
to  the  other  he  and  she  owed  all.  You  are  such  a  generous  spirit. 
But  your  purposes  and  feelings  are  not  such.  Perhaps  it  is  happier 
for  you  that  they  are  not. 

"This,  then,  is  an  outline  intended  to  be  true  of  my  unhappy  fort- 
unes and  strange  principles  of  action.  Both,  I  fear,  are  equally  re- 
pulsive to  you,  yet  the  former  was  meant  for  a  faithful  picture  of 
what  destiny  has  done  to  me,  and  the  latter  are  positively  the  best 
arms  which  my  resources  offer  me  to  war  with  her.  I  have  thought 
of  these  things  till  my  brain  was  like  to  crack.  I  do  not  pretend 
that  my  conclusions  are  indubitable;  I  am  still  open  to  better  light. 
But  this  at  present  is  the  best  I  have.  Do  you  also  think  of  all 
this?  not  in  any  spirit  of  anger,  but  in  the  spirit  of  love  and  noble- 
mindedness  which  you  have  always  shown  me.  If  we  must  part, 
let  us  part  in  tenderness  and  go  forth  upon  our  several  paths  lost  to 
the  future,  but  in  possession  of  the  past.  T.  CARLYLE.  " 

The  functions  of  a  biographer  are,  like  the  functions  of  a  Greek 
chorus,  occasionally  at  the  important  moments  to  throw  in  some 
moral  remarks  which  seem  to  fit  the  situation.  The  chorus  after 
such  a  letter  would  remark,  perhaps,  on  the  subtle  forms  of  self- 
deception  to  which  the  human  heart  is  liable,  of  the  momentous 
nature  of  marriage,  and  how  men  and  women  plunge  heedlessly 
into  the  net,  thinking  only  of  the  satisfaction  of  their  own  im- 
mediate wishes.  .  .  .  Self-sacrifice  it  might  say  was  a  noble  thing. 
But  a  sacrifice  which  one  person  might  properly  make,  the  other 
might  have  no  reasonable  right  to  ask  or  to  allow.  It  would  con- 
clude, however,  that  the  issues  of  human  acts  are  in  the  hands  of  the 
gods,  and  would  hope  for  the  best  in  fear  and  trembling.  Carlyle 
spoke  of  self-denial.  The  self-denial  which  he  was  prepared  to  make 
was  the  devotion  of  his  whole  life  to  the  pursuit  and  setting  forth 
of  spiritual  truth ;  throwing  aside  every  meaner  ambition.  But 
apostles  in  St.  Paul's  opinion  were  better  unwedded.  The  cause  to 
which  they  give  themselves  leaves  them  little  leisure  to  care  for  the 
things  of  their  wives.  To  his  mother  Carlyle  was  so  loving, 

"That  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 
Visit  her  face  too  roughly." 
8* 


166  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

This  was  love  indeed — love  that  is  lost  in  its  object,  and  thinks 
first  and  only  how  to  guard  and  foster  it.  His  wife  he  would  ex- 
pect to  rise  to  his  own  level  of  disinterested  self-surrender,  and  be 
content  and  happy  in  assisting  him  in  the  development  of  his  own 
destiny;  and  this  was  selfishness — selfishness  of  a  rare  and  elevated 
kind,  but  selfishness  still ;  and  it  followed  him  throughout  his  mar- 
ried life.  He  awoke  only  to  the  consciousness  of  what  he  had  been, 
when  the  knowledge  would  bring  no  more  than  unavailing  remorse. 
He  admired  Miss  Welsh;  he  loved  her  in  a  certain  sense;  but,  like 
her,  he  was  not  in  love.  In  a  note-book  written  long  after  I  find  the 
following  curious  entry  in  her  hand : 

"What  the  greatest  philosopher  of  our  day  execrates  loudest  in 
Thackeray's  new  novel — finds  indeed  '  altogether  false  and  damna- 
ble in  it ' — is  that  love  is  represented  as  spreading  itself  over  our 
whole  existence,  and  constituting  the  one  grand  interest  of  it ;  where- 
as love — tJie  thing  people  call  love — is  confined  to  a  very  few  years  of 
man's  life ;  to,  in  fact,  a  quite  insignificant  fraction  of  it,  and  even 
then  is  but  one  thing  to  be  attended  to  among  many  infinitely  more 
important  things.  Indeed,  so  far  as  he  (Mr.  C.)  has  seen  into  it,  the 
whole  concern  of  love  is  such  a  beggarly  futility,  that  in  an  heroic 
age  of  the  world  nobody  would  be  at  the  pains  to  think  of  it,  much 
less  to  open  his  mouth  upon  it." 

A  person  who  had  known  by  experience  the  tiling  called  lone  would 
scarcely  have  addressed  such  a  vehemently  unfavorable  opinion  of 
its  nature  to  the  woman  who  had  been  the  object  of  his  affection. 
He  admired  Miss  Welsh.  Her  mind  and  temper  suited  him.  He 
had  allowed  her  image  to  intertwine  itself  with  all  his  thoughts  and 
emotions ;  but  with  love  his  feeling  for  her  had  nothing  in  common 
but  the  name.  There  is  not  a  hint  anywhere  that  he  had  contem- 
plated as  a  remote  possibility  the  usual  consequence  of  a  marriage 
— a  family  of  children.  He  thought  of  a  wife  as  a  companion  to 
himself  who  would  make  life  easier  and  brighter  to  him.  But  this 
was  all,  and  the  images  in  which  he  dressed  out  the  workings  of  his 
mind  served  only  to  hide  their  real  character  from  himself. 

Miss  Welsh's  explanation  of  the  limits  of  her  regard  had  made  so 
little  impression  that  she  found  it  necessary  to  be  still  more  candid: 

"You  assure  me  [she  replied  in  answer  to  this  long  letter]  that 
you  are  not  hurt  or  angry.  Does  this  imply  that  there  is  some 
room  for  your  bein<£  hurt  or  angry — that  I  have  done  or  said  what 
might  have  angered  another  less  generous  than  you?  I  think  so. 
Now  room  for  disappointment  there  may  be,  but  surely  there  is  none 
for  mortification  or  offence.  I  have  refused  my  immediate  assent 
to  your  wishes  because  our  mutual  happiness  seemed  to  require  that 
I  should  refuse  it.  But  for  the  rest  I  have  not  slighted  your  wishes ; 
on  the  contrary,  I  have  expressed  my  willingness  to  fulfil  them  at 
the  expense  of  everything  but  what  I  deem  essential  to  our  happi- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  167 

ness ;  and,  so  far  from  undervaluing  you,  I  have  shown  you,  in  de- 
claring that  I  would  marry  no  one  else,  not  only  that  I  esteem  you 
above  all  the  men  I  have  ever  seen,  but  also  that  I  am  persuaded  I 
should  esteem  you  above  all  the  men  I  may  ever  see.  What,  then, 
have  you  to  be  hurt  or  angry  at? 

' '  The  maxims  I  proceed  by  (you  tell  me)  are  those  of  common 
and  acknowledged  prudence ;  and  you  do  not  say  it  is  unwise  in  me 
to  walk  by  them  exclusively.  The  maxims  I  proceed  by  are  the 
convictions  of  my  own  judgment;  and  being  so  it  would  be  unwise 
in  me  not  to  proceed  by  them  whether  they  are  right  or  wrong.  Yet 
I  am  prudent,  I  fear,  only  because  I  am  not  strongly  tempted  to  be 
otherwise.  My  heart  is  capable  (I  feel  it  is)  of  a  love  to  which  no 
deprivation  would  be  a  sacrifice — a  love  which  would  overleap  that 
reverence  for  opinion  with  which  education  and  weakness  have  be- 
girt my  sex, would  bear  down  all  the  restraints  which  duty  and  expe- 
diency might  throw  in  the  way,  and  carry  every  thought  of  my  be- 
ing impetuously  along  with  it.  But  the  all-perfect  mortal  who  could 
inspire  me  with  a  love  so  extravagant  is  nowhere  to  be  found;  exists 
nowhere  but  in  the  romance  of  my  own  imagination.  Perhaps  it  is 
better  for  me  as  it  is.  A  passion  like  the  torrent  in  the  violence  of 
its  course  might  perhaps  too,  like  the  torrent,  leave  ruin  and  desola- 
tion behind.  In  the  mean  time  I  should  be  mad  to  act  as  if  from  the 
influence  of  such  a  passion  while  my  affections  are  in  a  state*  of  per- 
fect tranquillity.  1  have  already  explained  to  you  the  nature  of  my 
love  for  you;  that  it  is  deep  and  calm,  more  like  the  quiet  river 
which  refreshes  and  beautifies  where  it  flows,  than  the  torrent  which 
bears  down  and  destroys:  yet  it  is  materially  different  from  what 
one  feels  for  a  statue  or  a  picture. 

"  '  Then  why  not  attain  wealth  and  rank?'  you  say;  and  it  is  you 
who  have  said  it,  not  I.  Wealth  and  rank,  to  be  sure,  have  different 
meanings,  according  to  the  views  of  different  people;  and  what  is 
bare  sufficiency  and  respectability  in  the  vocabulary  of  a  young  lady 
may  be  called  wealth  and  rank  in  that  of  a  philosopher.  But  it  cer- 
tainly was  not  wealth  or  rank  according  to  my  views  which  I  re- 
quired you  to  attain.  I  merely  wish  to  see  you  earning  a  certain 
livelihood,  and  exercising  the  profession  of  a  gentleman.  For  the 
rest,  it  is  a  matter  of  great  indifference  to  me  whether  you  have 
hundreds  or  thousands  a  year ;  whether  you  are  a  '  Mr. '  or  a  '  Duke. ' 
To  me  it  seems  that  my  wishes  in  this  respect  are  far  from  unrea- 
sonable, even  when  your  peculiar  maxims  and  situation  are  taken 
into  account. 

"  Nor  was  it  wholly  with  a  view  to  improvement  in  your  external 
circumstances  that  I  have  made  their  fulfilment  a  condition  to  our 
union,  but  also  with  a  view  to  some  improvement  in  my  sentiments 
towards  you  which  might  be  brought  about  in  the  mean  time.  In 
withholding  this  matter  in  my  former  letter  I  was  guilty  of  a  false 
and  ill-timed  reserve.  My  tenderness  for  your  feelings  betrayed  me 
into  an  insincerity  which"  is  not  natural  to  me.  I  thought  that  the 
most  decided  objection  to  your  circumstances  would  pain  you  less 
than  the  least  objection  to  yourself.  While,  in  truth,  it  is  in  some 
measure  grounded  on  both.  I  must  be  sincere,  I  find :  at  whatever  cost. 

"As  I  have  said,  then,  in  requiring  you  to  better  your  fortune,  I 


168  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

had  some  view  to  an  improvement  in  my  sentiments.  I  am  not  sure 
that  they  are  proper  sentiments  for  a  husband.  They  are  proper 
for  a  brother,  a  father,  a  guardian  spirit ;  but  a  husband,  it  seems  to 
me,  should  be  dearer  still.  At  the  same  time,  from  the  change  which 
my  sentiments  towards  you  have  already  undergone  during  the  pe- 
riod of  our  acquaintance,  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  in  time  I  shall 
be  perfectly  satisfied  with  them.-  One  loves  you, as  Madame  de  Stae"! 
said,  in  proportion  to  the  ideas  and  sentiments  which  are  in  one's 
self.  According  as  my  mind  enlarges,  and  my  heart  improves,  I  be- 
come capable  of  comprehending  the  goodness  and  greatness  which 
are  in  you,  and  my  affection  for  you  increases.  Not  many  months 
ago  I  would  have  said  it  was  impossible  that  I  should  ever  be  your 
wife.  At  present  I  consider  this  the  most  probable  destiny  for  me, 
and  in  a  year  or  two  perhaps  I  shall  consider  it  the  only  one.  Die 
Zeit  ist  noch  nicht  da  ! 

"  From  what  I  have  said  it  is  plain  (to  me  at  least)  what  ought  to 
be  the  line  of  our  future  conduct.  Do  you  what  you  can  to  better 
your  external  circumstances;  always,  however,  subordinately  to  your 
own  principles,  which  I  do  not  ask  you  to  give  up ;  which  I  should 
despise  you  for  giving  up,  whether  I  approve  them  or  no — while  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  do  what  I  can,  subordinately  to  nothing,  to  better 
myself;  which  I  am  persuaded  is  the  surest  way  of  bringing  my 
wishes  to  accord  with  yours;  and  let  us  leave  the  rest  to  fate." 

Miss  Welsh  had  been  perfectly  candid;  and  had  she  ended  there, 
Carlyle — if  persons  in  such  situations  were  ever  as  wise  as  they 
ought  to  be — would  have  seen  from  this  frank  expression  of  her 
feelings  that  a  marriage  with  himself  was  not  likely  to  be  a  happy 
one  for  her.  He  had  already  dimly  perceived  that  the  essential  con- 
dition was  absent.  She  did  not  love  him  as  she  felt  that  she  could 
love.  As  little,  however,  could  she  make  up  her  mind  to  give  him 
up  or  consent  that,  as  he  had  said,  "they  should  go  forth  their  sev- 
eral ways."  She  refused  to  believe  that  he  could  mean  it.  "How 
could  I, "she  said,  "part  from  the  only  living  soul  that  understands 
me?  I  would  marry  you  to-morrow  rather;  our  parting  would  need 
to  be  brought  about  by  death  or  some  dispensation  of  Providence. 
Were  you  to  will  it,  to  part  would  no  longer  be  bitter.  The  bitter- 
ness would  be  in  thinking  you  unworthy." 

The  serious  tone  changed ;  the  mockery  at  the  Craigenputtock 
farm  project  came  back,  with  the  strong  sense  playing  merrily 
beneath  it: 

"Will  you  be  done  with  this  wild  scheme  of  yours?  I  tell  you  it 
will  not  answer,  and  you  must  play  Cincinnatus  somewhere  else. 
With  all  your  tolerance  of  places  you  would  not  find  at  Craigenput- 
tock the  requisites  you  require.  The  light  of  heaven  to  be  sure  is 
not  denied  it;  but  for  green  grass?  Beside  a  few  cattle-fields  there 
is  nothing  except  a  waste  prospect  of  heather  and  black  peat  moss. 
Prune  and  delve  will  you  ?  In  the  first  place  there  is  nothing  to 
prune:  and  for  delving,  I  set  too  high  a  value  on  your  life  to  let  you 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  169 

engage  in  so  perilous  an  enterprise.  Were  you  to  attempt  such  a 
thing  there  are  twenty  chances  to  one  that  you  would  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  moss,  spade  and  all.  In  short,  I  presume,  whatever  may 
be  your  farming  talents,  you  are  not  an  accomplished  cattle-drover, 
and  nobody  but  a  person  of  this  sort  could  make  the  rent  of  the 
place  out  of  it.  Were  you  to  engage  in  the  concern,  we  should  all 
be  ruined  together." 

Part  with  Carlyle,  however,  she  would  not,  unless  he  himself 
wished  it. 

"  I  know  not  [she  says  in  a  following  letter]  how  your  spirit  has 
gained  such  a  mastery  over  mine,  in  spite  of  my  pride  and  stubborn- 
ness. But  so  it  is.  Though  self-willed  as  a  mule  with  others,  I  am 
tractable  and  submissive  towards  you.  I  hearken  to  your  voice  as 
to  the  dictates  of  a  second  conscience  hardly  less  awful  to  me  than 
that  which  nature  has  implanted  in  my  breast.  How  comes  it  then 
that  you  have  this  power  over  me  ?  for  it  is  not  the  effect  of  your 
genius  and  virtue  merely.  Sometimes  in  my  serious  moods  I  be- 
lieve it  is  a  charm  with  which  my  good  angel  has  fortified  my  heart 
against  evil." 

Thus  matters  drifted  on  to  their  consummation.  The  stern  and 
powerful  sense  of  duty  in  these  two  remarkable  persons  held  them 
true  through  a  long  and  trying  life  together  to  the  course  of  elevated 
action  which  they  had  both  set  before  themselves.  He  never  swerved 
from  the  high  aims  to  which  he  had  resolved  to  devote  himself. 
She,  by  never-failing  toil  and  watchfulness,  alone  made  it  possible 
for  him  to  accomplish  the  work  which  he  achieved.  But  we  reap 
as  we  have  sown.  Those  who  seek  for  something  more  than  happi- 
ness in  this  world  must  not  complain  if  happiness  is  not  their  por- 
tion. She  had  the  companionship  of  an  extraordinary  man.  Her 
character  was  braced  by  the  contact  with  him,  and  through  the  in- 
cessant self-denial  which  the  determination  that  he  should  do  his 
very  best  inevitably  exacted  of  her.  But  she  was  not  happy.  Long 
years  after,  in  the  late  evening  of  her  laborious  life,  she  said,  "I 
married  for  ambition.  Carlyle  has  exceeded  all  that  my  wildest 
hopes  ever  imagined  of  him — and  I  am  miserable." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A.D.  1825.      ^ET.  30. 

BY  the  beginning  of  January  the  "Life  of  Schiller"  was  finished. 
Carlyle  lingered  in  London  for  a  few  weeks  longer.  The  London 
publishers  had  their  eye  on  him,  and  made  him  various  offers  for 
fresh  translations  from  the  German;  for  a  life  of  Voltaire;  for  other 


170  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

literary  biographies.  For  each  or  all  of  these  they  were  ready  to 
give  him,  as  they  said,  fair  terms.  He  postponed  his  decision  till 
these  terms  could  be  agreed  on.  Meanwhile  he  was  as  usual  moody 
and  discontented;  in  a  hurry  to  be  gone  from  London,  and  its  "men 
of  letters,"  whom  he  liked  less  and  less. 

To  John  Cartyle. 

"London :  January  22, 1825. 

"With  regard  to  my  own  movements  after  the  conclusion  of  this 
most  small  of  literary  labors,  there  is  yet  nothing  fixed  determinately. 
That  I  shall  return  to  Scotland  pretty  soon  is,  I  think,  the  only  point 
entirely  decided.  Here  is  nothing  adequate  to  induce  my  contin- 
uance. The  people  are  stupid  and  noisy,  and  I  live  at  the  easy  rate 
of  five-and-forty  shillings  per  week!  I  say  the  people  are  stupid  not 
altogether  unadvisedly.  In  point  either  of  intellectual  and  moral 
culture  they  are  some  degrees  below  even  the  inhabitants  of  the 
'  modern  Athens.'  I  have  met  no  man  of  true  head  and  heart  among 
them.  Coleridge  is  a  mass  of  richest  spices  putrefied  into  a  dung- 
hill. I  never  hear  him  tawlk  without  feeling  ready  to  worship  him, 
and  toss  him  in  a  blanket.  Thomas  Campbell  is  an  Edinburgh 
'small,' made  still  smaller  by  growth  in  a  foreign  soil.  Irving  is 
enveloped  with  delusions  and  difficulties,  wending  somewhat  down 
hill,  to  what  depths  I  know  not ;  and  scarcely  ever  to  be  seen  with- 
out a  host  of  the  most  stolid  of  all  his  Majesty's  Christian  people 
sitting  round  him.  I  wonder  often  that  he  does  not  buy  himself 
a  tar-barrel,  and  fairly  light  it  under  the  Hatton  Garden  pulpit,  and 
thus  once  for  all  exfumo  giving  lucem,  bid  adieu  the  gross  train-oil 

concern  altogether.     The  poor  little .     I  often  feel  that  were  I 

as  one  of  these  people,  sitting  in  a  whole  body  by  the  cheek  of  my 
own  wife,  my  feet  upon  my  own  hearth,  I  should  feel  distressed  at 
seeing  myself  so  very  poor  in  spirit.  Literary  men!  The  Devil  in 
his  own  good  time  take  all  such  literary  men.  One  sterling  fellow 
like  Schiller,  or  even  old  Johnson,  would  take  half  a  dozen  such 
creatures  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  between  his  finger  and  thumb, 
and  carry  them  forth  to  the  nearest  common  sink.  Save  Allan 
Cunningham,  our  honest  Nithsdale  peasant,  there  is  not  one  man 
among  them.  In  short,  it  does  not  seem  worth  while  to  spend 
five-and-forty  shillings  weekly  for  the  privilege  of  being  near  such 
penmen." 

To  live  in  London  and  become  enrolled  in  the  unillustrious  fel- 
lowship, Carlyle  felt  to  be  once  for  all  impossible.  But  what  was 
to  be  the  alternative?  Miss  Welsh  had  condemned  the  farming 
project;  but  the  opinion  at  Mainhill  was  not  so  unfavorable.  If  a 
good  farm  could  be  found,  his  brother  Alexander  was  ready  to  un- 
dertake to  set  it  going.  His  mother  or  a  sister  would  manage  the 
house  and  dairy.  To  his  father,  who  was  experienced  in  such  mat- 
ters, that  Tom  should  take  to  them  as  he  had  done  appeared  neither 
wild  nor  unfeasible.  He  might,  indeed,  go  back  to  Edinburgh  and 
take  pupils  again.  Mr.  Buller  was  prepared  to  send  his  son  Arthur 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  171 

to  him,  and  go  on  with  the  200?.  a  year.    One  of  the  Stracheys  might 
come,  and  there  were  hopes  of  others ;  but  Carlyle  hated  the  drudg- 
ery of  teaching,  and  was  longing  for  fresh  air  and  freedom. 
He  had  sent  "  Schiller  "  to  his  mother. 

' '  The  point  next  to  be  considered  [he  wrote  to  her]  is  what  shall 
be  done  with  the  author  of  this  mighty  work?  He  is  a  deserving 
youth,  with  a  clear  conscience,  but  a  bad,  bad  stomach.  What  shall 
be  done  with  him  ?  After  much  consideration,  I  had  resolved  in  the 
first  instance  to  come  home.  Irving  wants  a  week  of  talk  with  me 
before  I  go.  By  the  time  that  is  done  I  shall  have  settled  my  affairs 
licre.  taken  leave  of  the  good  people,  and  be  about  ready  to  take 
flight.  I  am  not  coming  by  sea,  so  take  no  thought  of  it.  My  last 
voyage  satisfied  me  with  sailing;  with  regard  to  my  subsequent  pro- 
ceedings there  must  be  some  consideration,  but  not  an  hour  of  loi- 
tering. I  have  set  out  before  my  mind  distinctly  what  I  want:  and 
this,  as  Goethe  says,  is  half  the  game.  I  will  recover  my  health, 
though  all  the  books  in  the  universe  should  go  to  smoke  in  the  proc- 
ess. I  will  be  a  whole  man ;  no  longer  a  piping,  pining  wretch, 
though  I  should  knap  stones  by  the  way-side  for  a  living.  I  had 
some  thoughts  of  setting  up  house  at  Edinburgh,  and  taking  two 
or  three  pupils  whose  education  I  might  superintend  at  college. 
But  I  already  perceive  this  project  will  not  suit  my  chief  purpose; 
I  recur  to  the  old  plan  of  farming  and  living  in  the  country.  This 
I  really  think  might  be  made  to  do.  What  might  hinder  Alick  and 
me  to  take  a  farm  and  move  to  it  with  you  and  some  other  of  the 
younkers,  furnishing  up  an  apartment  in  the  house  for  my  writing 
operations,  and  going  on  in  our  several  vocations  with  all  imagina- 
ble energy  ?  You  must  take  counsel  with  the  whole  senate  on  this 
matter.  I  must  have  a  house  of  my  own  (a  bit  haddin  o'  my  ain 

),  where  I  can  enjoy  quiet  and  free  air,  and  have  liberty  to  do 

as  I  list ;  and  I  see  no  scheme  so  likely  in  the  actual  state  of  matters 
as  this.  Tell  Alick  to  look  about  him  on  all  sides  for  such  a  thing; 
a  farm  with  a  comfortable  house  to  live  in,  and  at  a  rent  which  we 
can  front.  I  shall  have  200?.  in  my  pocket  when  I  return,  notwith- 
standing the  horrible  expensiveness  of  this  place  ;  and  that,  with 
what  we  have  already,  ought  to  put  us  on  some  sort  of  footing. 
Were  we  once  begun  I  could  write  at  a  moderate  rate  without  injur- 
ing myself,  and  make  a  handsome  enough  thing  of  it  within  the 
year.  And  for  my  health,  with  riding,  gardening,  and  so  forth,  it 
would  to  a  certainty  improve.  Could  I  live  without  taking  drugs 
for  three  months,  I  should  even  now  be  perfectly  well,  But  drench- 
ing one's  self  with  castor-oil  and  other  abominations,  how  can  one 
be  otherwise  than  weak  and  feckless?  I  must  and  will  come  out  of 
this  despicable  state;  nor  on  the  whole  have  I  any  great  doubts  about 
succeeding.  Often  of  late  I  have  even  begun  to  look  upon  my  long 
dismal  seven  years  of  pain  as  a  sort  of  blessing  in  disguise.  It  has 
kept  me  clear  of  many  temptations  to  degrade  myself ;  and  really, 
when  I  look  back  on  my  former  state  of  mind,  I  scarcely  see  how, 
except  by  sickness  or  some  most  grinding  calamity,  I  could  have 
been  delivered  out  of  it  into  the  state  proper  for  a  man  in  this  world. 
Truly,  as  you  say,  the  ways  of  that  Being  who  guides  our  destiny 


172  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

are  wonderful,  and  past  finding  out.     Let  us  trust  that  for  all  of  us 
this  will  prove  the  best." 

The  start  of  "Schiller"  in  the  trade  was  less  favorable  than  had 
been  looked  for,  and  the  offers  from  the  booksellers  for  future  work, 
when  they  came  to  be  specified,  were  not  satisfactory.  Carlyle  in 
consequence  formed  an  ill  opinion  of  these  poor  gentlemen. 

"The  booksellers  of  the  universe  [he  said]  are  bipeds  of  an  erect 
form  and  speak  articulately;  therefore  they  deserve  the  name  of 
men,  and  from  me  at  least  shall  always  get  it.  But  for  the  rest, 
their  thoughts  are  redolent  of  '  solid  pudding. '  They  are  as  the 
pack-horses  of  literature;  which  the  author  should  direct  with  a  hal- 
ter and  a  goad,  and  remunerate  with  clover  and  split  beans.  Woe 
to  him  if  the  process  is  reversed;  if  he,  with  a  noose  about  his  neck, 
is  tied  to  their  unsightly  tail,  and  made  to  plash  and  sprawl  along 
with  them  through  every  stank  to  which  their  love  of  provant  leads 
them.  Better  it  were  to  be  a  downright  hairy  cuddy,  and  crop 
thistles  and  gorse  on  any  of  the  commons  of  this  isle. " 

He  was  more  successful  in  making  an  arrangement  with  the  pub- 
lishers of  "Wilhelm  Meister"  for  farther  translations.  It  was  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  furnish  them  with  selections  from  Goethe, 
Tieck,  Hoffmann,  Jean  Paul,  and  several  others,  enough  to  form  the 
considerable  book  which  appeared  in  the  following  year,  in  four 
volumes,  as  specimens  of  German  romance.  With  this  work  defi- 
nitely in  prospect,  which  he  felt  that  he  could  execute  with  ease  as 
a  mechanical  task,  Carlyle  left  London  at  the  beginning  of  March, 
and  left  it  with  dry  eyes.  He  regretted  nothing  in  it  but  Irving; 
and  Irving  having  taken  now  to  interpretation  of  prophecy,  and 
falling  daily  into  yet  wilder  speculations,  was  almost  lost  to  him. 
Their  roads  had  long  been  divergent — Irving  straying  into  the  land 
of  dreams,  Carlyle  into  the  hard  region  of  unattractive  truth,  which 
as  yet  presented  itself  to  him  in  its  sternest  form.  The  distance 
was  becoming  too  wide  for  intimacy,  although  their  affection  for 
each  other,  fed  on  recollections  of  what  had  been,  never  failed  either 
of  them.  Carlyle  went  down  to  Scotland,  staying  a  day  or  two  at 
Birmingham;  and  another  at  Manchester  to  see  an  old  school  -fellow. 
When  the  coach  brought  him  to  Ecclefechan  he  found  waiting  for 
him  his  little  sister  Jane,  the  poetess,  who  had  been  daily  watching 
for  his  arrival.  ' '  Her  bonny  little  blush, "  he  wrote  long  after,  ' '  and 
radiancy  of  look  when  I  let  down  the  window  and  suddenly  dis- 
closed myself,  are  still  present  to  me." 

His  relation  with  his  family  was  always  beautiful.  They  had 
been  busy  for  him  in  his  absence,  and  had  already  secured  what  he 
was  longing  after.  Two  miles  from  Mainhill,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill, 
on  the  right  as  you  look  towards  the  Solway,  stands  an  old  ruined 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  173 

building,  with  uncertain  traditions  attached  to  it,  called  the  Tower 
of  Repentance.  Some  singular  story  lies  hidden  in  the  name,  but 
authentic  record  there  is  none.  The  Tower  only  remains  visible  far 
away  from  the  high  slopes  which  rise  above  Ecclefechan.  Below 
the  Tower  is  the  farm-house  of  Hoddam  Hill,  with  a  few  acres  of 
tolerable  land  attached  to  it.  The  proprietor,  General  Sharpe,  was 
the  landlord  of  whom  the  Carlyles  held  Mainhill.  It  had  been  oc- 
cupied by  General  Sharpe's  factor;  but  the  factor  wishing  to  leave, 
they  had  taken  it  at  the  moderate  rent  of  1001.  a  year  for  "Tom," 
and  Alick  was  already  busy  putting  in  the  crops,  and  the  mother  and 
sisters  preparing  the  house  to  receive  him.  They  would  have  made 
a  home  for  him  among  themselves,  and  all  from  eldest  to  youngest 
would  have  done  everything  that  affection  could  prompt  to  make 
him  happy.  But  the  narrow  space,  the  early  hours,  the  noises  in- 
separable from  the  active  work  of  a  busy  household,  above  all,  the 
necessity  of  accommodating  himself  to  the  habits  of  a  large  family, 
were  among  the  evils  which  he  reckoned  that  he  must  avoid.  He 
required  a  home  of  his  own,  where  he  could  be  master  of  everything 
about  him,  and  sit  or  move,  sleep  or  rise,  eat  or  fast,  as  he  pleased, 
with  no  established  order  of  things  to  interfere  with  him.  Thus 
Hoddam  Hill  was  taken  for  him,  and  there  he  prepared  to  settle 
himself. 

"Tliis  morning  [he  wrote  to  Miss  "Welsh  from  Mainhill  on  March 
23]  they  woke  me  with  the  tumult  of  loading  carts  with  apparatus 
for  lloddam,  a  farm  of  which  I,  or  brother  Alick  for  me,  am  actual- 
ly tenant.  Think  of  this  and  reverence  my  savoir  faire.  I  have 
been  to  see  the  place,  and  I  like  it  well  so  far  as  I  am  interested  in  it. 
There  is  a  good  house  where  I  may  establish  myself  in  comfortable 
quarters.  The  views  from  it  are  superb.  There  are  hard  smooth 
roads  to  gallop  on  towards  any  point  of  the  compass,  and  ample 
space  to  dig  and  prune  under  the  pure  canopy  of  a  wholesome  sky. 
The  ancient  Tower  of  Repentance  stands  on  a  corner  of  the  farm,  a 
fit  memorial  for  reflecting  sinners.  My  mother  and  two  little  sisters 
go  with  us  at  Whitsunday — we  expect  them  to  manage  well.  Here, 
then,  will  I  establish  my  home  till  I  have  conquered  the  fiend  that 
harasses  me,  and  afterwards  my  place  of  retreat  till  some  more 
suitable  one  shall  come  within  my  reach." 

Miss  Welsh  had  promised  that  as  soon  as  he  was  settled  she  would 
pay  him  and  his  mother  a  visit  at  Hoddam,  that  she  might  become 
acquainted  with  her  future  relations,  and  see  with  her  eyes  the  kind 
of  home  which  he  was  inviting  her  to  share  with  him.  His  own 
imagination  had  made  it  into  fairy -land. 

"I  will  show  you  [he  wrote]  Kirkconnell  church-yard  and  Fair 
Helen's  grave.  I  will  take  you  to  the  top  of  Burnswark  and  wan- 
der with  you  up  and  clown  the  woods  and  lanes  and  moors.  Earth, 
sea,  and  air  are  open  to  us  here  as  well  as  anywhere.  The  water  of 


174  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Milk'  was  flowing  through  its  simple  valley  as  early  as  the  brook 
Siloa,  and  poor  Repentance  Hill  is  as  old  as  Caucasus  itself.  There 
is  a  majesty  and  mystery  in  Nature,  take  her  as  you  will.  The  es- 
sence of  all  poetry  comes  breathing  to  a  mind  that  feels  from  every 
province  of  her  empire.  Is  she  not  immovable,  eternal  and  immense 
in  Annandale  as  she  is  in  Chamouni?  The  chambers  of  the  East  are 
opened  in  every  land,  and  the  sun  comes  forth  to  sow  the  earth  with 
orient  pearl.  Night,  the  ancient  mother,  follows  him  with  her  dia- 
dem of  stars  ;  and  Arcturus  and  Orion  call  me  into  the  Infinitudes 
of  space  as  they  called  the  Druid  priest  or  the  shepherd  of  Chaldea. 
Bright  creatures  !  how  they  gleam  like  spirits  through  the  shadows 
of  innumerable  ages  from  their  thrones  in  the  boundless  depths  of 
heaven. 

'Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 
And  turned  to  earth  without  repining, 
Nor  wished  for  wings  to  fly  away 
To  mix  with  their  ethereal  ray  ?' " 

The  calm  grace  and  even  loveliness  of  this  passage  goes  farther 
than  all  his  arguments  to  justify  Carlyle's  longing  for  a  country 
home  among  his  own  people.  It  was  already  telling  on  the  inmost 
fibres  of  his  nature,  and  soothing  into  sleep  the  unquiet  spirits  that 
tormented  him. 

I  avoid  as  far  as  possible  quoting  passages  from  the  "  Reminis- 
cences," preferring  the  contemporary  record  of  his  letters  which 
were  written  at  the  time  ;  and  because  what  is  already  there  related 
does  not  need  repeating.  But  in  this  year,  when  he  was  living 
among  his  own  people,  the  letters  are  wanting,  and  one  brief  extract 
summing  up  the  effects  and  experiences  of  the  life  at  Hoddam  may 
here  be  permitted : 

"Hoddam  Hill  was  a  neat  compact  little  farm,  rent  100?.,  which 
my  father  had  leased  for  me,  on  which  was  a  prettyish  little  cottage 
for  dwelling-house ;  and  from  the  window  such  a  view  (fifty  miles 
in  radius  from  beyond  Tyndale  to  beyond  St.  Bees,  Solway  Firth 
and  all  the  fells  to  Ingleborough  inclusive)  as  Britain  or  the  world 
could  hardly  have  matched.  Here  the  ploughing,  etc. ,  was  already 
in  progress,  which  I  often  rode  across  to  see.  Here  I  established  my- 
self,8 set  up  my  books  and  bits  of  implements,  and  took  to  doing 
German  romance  as  my  daily  work — ten  pages  daily  my  stint,  which 
I  faithfully  accomplished,  barring  some  rare  accidents.  Brother 
Alick  was  my  practical  farmer ;  my  ever  kind  and  beloved  mother 
with  one  of  the  little  girls  was  generally  there.  Brother  John  too, 
oftenest,  who  had  just  taken  his  degree — these  with  a  little  man  and 
ditto  maid  were  our  establishment.  .  .  .  This  year  has  a  rustic  dig- 
nity and  beauty  to  me,  and  lies  now  like  a  not  ignoble  russet-coated 
idyl  in  my  memory ;  one  of  the  quietest  on  the  whole,  and,  perhaps, 
the  most  triumphantly  important  of  my  life.  I  lived  very  silent, 
diligent,  had  long  solitary  rides  on  my  wild  Irish  horse  Larry,  good 

i  One  of  the  small  tributaries  of  the  Annan.  2  May  26, 1825. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  175 

for  the  dietetic  part.  My  meditating?,  musings,  and  reflections  were 
continual ;  my  thoughts  went  wandering  or  travelling  through  eter- 
nity, through  time  and  space  so  far  as  poor  I  had  scanned  or  known, 
and  were  now  to  my  infinite  solacement  coming  back  with  tidings 
to  me.  This  year  I  found  that  I  had  conquered  all  my  scepticisms, 
agonizing  doublings,  fearful  wrestlings  with  the  foul,  vile,  and  soul- 
murdering  mud-gods  of  my  epoch ;  had  escaped  as  from  a  worse 
than  Tartarus,  with  all  its  Phlegethons  and  Stygian  quagmires,  and 
was  emerging  free  in  spirit  into  the  eternal  blue  of  ether,  where, 
blessed  be  Heaven,  I  have,  for  the  spiritual  part,  ever  since  lived, 
looking  down  upon  the  welterings  of  my  poor  fellow-creatures  in 
such  multitudes  and  millions  still  stuck  in  that  fatal  element,  and 
have  had  no  concern  whatever  in  their  Puseyisms,  ritualisms,  meta- 
physical controversies  and  cobwebberies,  and  no  feeling  of  my  own 
except  honest  silent  pity  for  the  serious  or  religious  part  of  them, 
and  occasional  indignation  for  the  poor  world's  sake  at  the  frivolous, 
secular,  and  impious  part  with  their  universal  suffrages,  their  nigger 
emancipations,  sluggard  and  scoundrel  protection  societies,  and  un- 
exampled prosperities  for  the  time  being.  What  my  pious  joy  and 
gratitude  then  was,  let  the  pious  soul  figure.  In  a  fine  and  veritable 
sense,  I,  poor,  obscure,  without  outlook,  almost  without  worldly 
hope,  had  become  independent  of  the  world.  What  was  death  itself 
from  the  world  to  what  I  had  come  through?  I  understood  well 
what  the  old  Christian  people  meant  by  conversion — by  God's  infi- 
nite mercy  to  them.  I  had  in  effect  gained  an  immense  victory,  and 
for  a  number  of  years,  in  spite  of  nerves  and  chagrins,  had  a  con- 
stant inward  happiness  that  was  quite  ro3Tal  and  supreme,  in  which 
all  temporal  evil  was  transient  and  insignificant,  and  which  essen- 
tially remains  with  me  still,  though  far  oftener  eclipsed,  and  lying 
deeper  down  than  then.  Once  more,  thank  Heaven  for  its  highest 
gift.  I  then  felt,  and  still  feel,  endlessly  indebted  to  Goethe  in  the 
business.  He  in  his  fashion,  I  perceived,  had  travelled  the  steep 
rocky  road  before  me — the  first  of  the  moderns.  Bodily  health  it- 
self seemed  improving.  Bodily  health  was  all  I  had  really  lost  in 
the  grand  spiritual  battle  now  gained ;  and  that  too  I  may  have 
hoped  would  gradually  return  altogether — which  it  never  did,  and 
was  far  enough  from  doing.  Meanwhile  my  thoughts  were  very 
peaceable,  full  of  pity  and  humanity  as  they  had  never  been  before. 
Nowhere  can  I  recollect  of  myself  such  pious  musings,  communings 
silent  and  spontaneous  with  fact  and  nature,  as  in  those  poor  Annan- 
dale  localities.  The  sound  of  the  kirk-bell  once  or  twice  on  Sunday 
mornings  (from  Hoddam  kirk,  about  a  mile  on  the  plains  below  me) 
was  strangely  touching,  like  the  departing  voice  of  eighteen  hun- 
dred years."1 

The  industry  which  Carlyle  describes  did  not  show  itself  im- 
mediately on  his  settlement  at  Hoddam.  The  excitement  of  the 
winter  mouths  had  left  him  exhausted;  and  for  the  first  few  weeks 
at  least  he  was  recovering  himself  in  an  idleness  which  showed 

>  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  286  et  seq. 


176  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

itself  in  the  improvement  of  his  humor.     In  June  he  wrote  to  Miss 
"Welsh: 

"I  am  gradually  and  steadily  gathering  health,  and  for  my  occu- 
pations they  amount  to  zero.  It  is  many  a  weary  year  since  I  have 
been  so  idle  or  so  happy.  I  read  Richter  and  Jacobi  ;  I  ride  and 
hoe  cabbages,  and,  like  Basil  Montagu,  am  'a  lover  of  all  quiet 
things.'  Sometimes  something  in  the  shape  of  conscience  says  to 
me,  '  You  will  please  to  observe,  Mr.  Tummas,  that  time  is  flying 
fast  away,  and  you  are  poor  and  ignorant  and  unknown,  and  verg- 
ing towards  nine-and-twenty.1  What  is  to  become  of  you  in  the 
long-run,  Mr.  Tummas?  Are  you  not  partly  of  opinion  that  you 
are  an  ass?  The  world  is  running  past  you.  You  are  out  of 'the 
battle  altogether,  my  pretty  sir;  no  promotion,  knowledge,  money, 
glory!'  To  which  I  answer,  'And  what  the  devil  is  the  matter? 
What  have  knowledge,  money,  glory,  done  for  me  hitherto?  Time, 
you  say,  is  flying.  Let  it  fly;  twice  as  fast  if  it  likes.'  I  hope  this 
humor  will  not  be  my  final  one.  It  is  rather  a  holy  time — a  pax  Dei, 
which  exhausted  Nature  has  conquered  for  herself  from  all  the  fiends 
that  assaulted  and  beset  her.  As  strength  returns,  the  battle  will 
again  commence;  yet  never  I  trust  with  such  fateful  eagerness  as 
of  old.  I  see  the  arena  of  my  life  lying  round  me  desolate  and  quiet 
as  the  ashes  of  Mount  ^Etna.  Flowers  and  verdure  will  again  spring 
over  its  surface.  But  I  know  that  fire  is  still  beneath  it,  and  that  it, 
or  I,  have  no  foundation  or  endurance.  Oh  human  life!  Oh  soul 
of  man!  But  my  paper  is  concluded." 

Carlyle  could  not  long  be  idle.  The  weariness  passed  off.  He 
took  up  his  translating  work,  and  went  on  with  it  as  he  has  related. 
An  accident  meanwhile  precipitated  the  relations  between  himself 
and  Miss  Welsh,  which  had  seemed  likely  to  be  long  protracted, 
and,  after  threatening  to  separate  them  forever,  threw  them  more 
completely  one  upon  the  other. 

When  Irving  first  settled  in  London  he  had  opened  the  secrets  of 
his  heart  to  a  certain  lady  with  whom  he  was  very  intimately  ac- 
quainted. He  had  told  her  of  his  love  for  his  old  pupil,  and  she 
had  drawn  from  him  that  the  love  had  been  returned.  She  had 
seen  Irving  sacrifice  himself  to  duty,  and  she  had  heard  that  his  res- 
olution had  been  sustained  by  the  person  to  whom  the  surrender  of 
their  mutual  hopes  had  been  as  bitter  as  to  himself.  The  lady  was 
romantic,  and  had  become  profoundly  interested.  Flowing  over 
with  sympathy,  she  had  herself  commenced  a  correspondence  with 
Haddington.  To  Carlyle  she  wrote  occasionally,  because  she  really 
admired  him.  To  Miss  Welsh  she  introduced  herself  as  one  who 
•was  eager  for  her  confidence,  who  was  prepared  to  love  her  for  the 
many  excellences  which  she  knew  her  to  possess,  and  to  administer 
balm  to  the  wounds  of  her  heart. 

i  Thirty:  he  was  born  December  4, 1795. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  177 

Miss  "Welsh  did  not  respond  very  cordially  to  this  effusive  invita- 
tion. It  was  not  her  habit  to  seek  for  sympathy  from  strangers  ; 
but  she  replied  in  a  letter  which  her  new  friend  found  extremely 
beautiful,  and  which  stirred  her  interest  still  deeper.  The  lady 
imagined  that  her  young  correspondent  was  still  pining  in  secret 
for  her  lost  lover,  and  she  was  tempted  to  approach  closer  to  the 
subject  which  had  aroused  her  sympathies.  She  thought  it  would 
be  well  slightly  to  disparage  Irving.  She  painted. him  as  a  person 
whose  inconstancy  did  not  deserve  a  prolonged  and  hopeless  affec- 
tion. She  too  had  sought  to  find  in  him  the  dearest  of  friends;  but 
he  had  other  interests  and  other  ambitions,  and  any  woman  who 
concentrated  her  heart  upon  him  would  be  disappointed  in  the  re- 
turn which  she  might  meet  with. 

The  lady's  motive  was  admirable.  She  thought  that  she  could 
assist  in  reconciling  Miss  Welsh  to  her  disappointment.  In  perfect 
innocence  she  wrote  confidentially  to  Carlyle  on  the  same  subject. 
She  regarded  him  simply  as  the  intimate  friend  both  of  Miss  Welsh 
and  Irving.  She  assumed  that  he  was  acquainted  with  their  secret 
history.  She  spoke  of  the  affection  which  had  existed  between  them 
as  still  unextinguished  on  either  side.  For  the  sake  of  both  of  them 
she  wished  that  something  might  be  done  to  put  an  end  to  idle  re- 
grets and  vain  imaginings.  Nothing  she  thought  could  contribute 
more  to  disenchant  Miss  Welsh  than  a  visit  to  herself  in  London, 
where  she  could  see  Irving  as  he  was  in  his  present  surroundings. 1 

Miss  Welsh  had  for  two  years  never  mentioned  Irving  to  Carlyle 
except  bitterly  and  contemptuously ;  so  bitterly  indeed  that  he  had 
often  been  obliged  to  remonstrate.  Had  he  been  less  single-minded, 
a  tone  so  marked  and  acid  might  have  roused  his  suspicions.  But 
that  Irving  and  she  had  been  more  than  friends,  if  he  had  ever  heard 
a  hint  of  it,  had  passed  out  of  his  mind.  Even  the  lady's  letter  fail- 
ed to  startle  him.  He  mentioned  merely,  when  he  next  wrote  to  her, 
that  the  writer  labored  under  some  strange  delusion  about  her  secret 
history,  and  had  told  him  in  a  letter  full  of  eloquence  that  her  heart 
was  with  Irving  in  London. 

Miss  Welsh  felt  that  she  must  at  least  satisfy  her  ecstatic  acquaint- 
ance that  she  was  not  pining  for  another  woman's  husband.  She 
was  even  more  explicit.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  Car- 
lyle. She  told  her  intrusive  correspondent  so  in  plain  words,  desir- 
ing her  only  to  keep  her  secret.  The  lady  was  thunder-struck.  In 
ordinary  life  she  was  high-flown,  and  by  those  who  did  not  know 

1  No  part  of  this  language  is  the  lady's  own.  The  substance  of  her  letters  was  re- 
pcatod  in  the  correspondence  which  followed  between  Carlyle  and  Miss  Welsh.  I  have 
alluded  to  the  subject  only  because  Mrs.  Carlyle  said  afterwards  that  but  for  the  un- 
conscious action  of  a  comparative  stranger  her  engagement  with  Carlylo  would  proba- 
bly never  have  been  carried  out. 


178  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

her  might  have  been  thought  affected  and  unreal;  but  on  occasions 
really  serious  she  could  feel  and  write  like  a  wise  woman.  She 
knew  that  Miss  Welsh  could  not  love  Carlyle.  The  motive  could 
only  be  a  generous  hope  of  making  life  dearer,  and  want  of  health 
more  endurable,  to  an  honest  and  excellent  man,  while  she  might  be 
seeking  blindly  to  fill  a  void  which  was  aching  in  her  own  heart. 
She  required  Miss  Welsh,  she  moet  solemnly  adjured  her,  to  examine 
herself,  and  not  allow  one  who  had  known  much  disappointment 
and  many  sorrows  to  discover  by  a  comparison  of  his  own  feelings 
with  hers  that  she  had  come  to  him  with  half  a  heart,  and  had  mis- 
taken compassion  and  the  self-satisfaction  of  a  generous  act  for  a 
sentiment  which  could  alone  sustain  her  in  a  struggle  through  life. 
Supposing  accident  should  set  Irving  free,  supposing  his  love  to  have 
been  indestructible,  and  to  have  been  surrendered  only  in  obedience 
to  duty,  and  supposing  him,  not  knowing  of  this  new  engagement, 
to  come  back  and  claim  the  heart  from  which  an  adverse  fate  had 
separated  him,  what  in  such  a  case  would  her  feeling  be  ?  If  she 
could  honestly  say  that  she  would  still  prefer  Carlyle,  then  let  her 
marry  him,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  If,  on  the  other  hand;  she 
was  obliged  to  confess  to  herself  that  she  could  still  find  happiness 
where  she  had  hoped  to  find  it,  Irving  might  still  be  lost  to  her;  but 
in  such  a  condition  of  mind  she  had  no  right  to  marry  any  one  else. 

With  characteristic  integrity  Miss  Welsh,  on  receiving  this  letter, 
instantly  enclosed  it  to  Carlyle.  She  had  been  under  no  obligation, 
at  least  until  their  marriage  had  been  definitively  determined  on,  to 
inform  him  of  the  extent  of  her  attachment  to  Irving.  But  sincere 
as  she  was  to  a  fault  in  the  ordinary  occasions  of  life,  she  had  in  this 
matter  not  only  kept  back  the  truth,  but  had  purposely  misled  Car- 
lyle as  to  the  nature  of  her  feelings.  She  felt  that  she  must  make 
a  full  confession.  She  had  deceived  him — wilfully  deceived  him. 
She  had  even  told  him  that  she  had  never  cared  for  Irving.  "It 
was  false,"  she  said.  She  had  loved  him — once  passionately  loved 
him.  For  this  she  might  be  forgiven.  "If  she  had  shown  weak- 
ness in  loving  a  man  whom  she  knew  to  be  engaged  to  another,  she 
had  made  amends  in  persuading  him  to  marry  the  other,  and  save 
his  honor  from  reproach."  But  she  had  disguised  her  real  feelings, 
and  for  this  she  had  no  excuse.  She  who  had  felt  herself  Carlyle's 
superior  in  their  late  controversy,  and  had  been  able  to  rebuke  him 
for  selfishness,  felt  herself  degraded  and  humbled  in  his  eyes.  If  he 
chose  to  cast  her  off,  she  said  that  she  could  not  say  he  was  unjust; 
but  her  pride  was  broken ;  and  very  naturally,  very  touchingly,  she 
added  that  he  had  never  been  so  dear  to  her  as  at  that  moment  when 
she  was  in  danger  of  losing  his  affection  and,  what  was  still  more 
precious  to  her,  his  respect. 

If  Carlyle  had  been  made  of  common  stuff,  so  unexpected  a  reve- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  179 

lation  might  have  tried  his  vanity.  The  actual  effect  \vas  to  awa- 
ken in  him  a  sense  of  his  own  unworthiness.  He  perceived  that 
Miss  Welsh  was  probably  accepting  him  only  out  of  the  motives 
which  Mrs.  Montagu  suggested.  His  infirmities,  mental  and  bod- 
ily, might  make  him  an  unfit  companion  for  her,  or  indeed  for  any 
woman.  It  would  be  better  for  her  once  for  all  to  give  him  up. 
He  knew,  he  said,  that  he  could  never  make  her  happy.  They 
might  suffer  at  parting,  but  they  would  have  obeyed  their  reason, 
and  time  would  deaden  the  pain.  No  affection  was  unalterable  or 
eternal.  Men  themselves,  with  all  their  passions,  sunk  to  dust  and 
were  consumed.  He  must  imitate  her  sincerity.  He  said  (and  he 
spoke  with  perfect  truth)  that  there  was  a  strange,  dark  humor  in 
him  over  which  he  had  no  control.  If  she  thought  they  were  "blue 
devils,  weak  querulous  wailings  of  a  mind  distempered,"  she  would 
only  show  that  she  did  not  understand  him.  In  a  country  town 
she  had  seen  nothing  of  life,  and  had  grasped  at  the  shadows  that 
passed  by  her.  First,  the  rude,  smoky  fire  of  Edward  Irving  seemed 
to  her  a  star  from  heaven ;  next,  the  quivering  ignis  fatuus  of  the 
soul  that  dwelt  in  himself.  The  world  had  a  thousand  noble  hearts 
that  she  did  not  dream  of.  What  was  he,  and  what  was  his  father's 
house,  that  she  should  sacrifice  herself  for  him? 

It  was  not  in  nature — it  was  not  at  least  in  Miss  Welsh's  nature 
— that  at  such  a  time  and  under  such  circumstances  she  should  re- 
consider her  resolution.  She  was  staying  with  her  grandfather  at 
•Templand  when  these  letters  were  interchanged.  She  determined 
to  use  the  opportunity  to  pay  the  Carlyles  her  promised  visit,  see 
him  iu  his  owu  home  and  his  own  circle,  and  there  face  to  face  ex- 
plain all  the  past  and  form  some  scheme  for  the  immediate  future. 
Like  the  lady  in  London,  she  felt  that  if  the  marriage  was  to  be,  or 
rather  since  the  marriage  was  to  be,  the  sooner  it  was  over  now  the 
better  for  every  one.  Carlyle  was  to  have  met  her  on  the  road,  and 
was  waiting  with  horses ;  but  there  had  been  a  mistake.  She  was 
dropped  by  the  coach  the  next  morning  at  Kelhead  Kilns,  from 
which  she  sent  him  a  little  characteristic  note : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Kelhead  Kilns  :  Friday,  September  3, 1825. 

"Good-morning,  Sir.  I  am  not  at  all  to  blame  for  your  disap- 
pointment last  night.  The  fault  was  partly  your  own,  and  still 
more  the  landlady's  of  the  Commercial  Inn,  as  I  shall  presently 
demonstrate  to  you  viva  voce.  In  the  mean  time  I  have  billeted  my- 
self in  a  snug  little  house  by  the  way-side,  where  I  purpose  remain- 
ing with  all  imaginable  patience  till  you  can  make  it  convenient  to 
come  and  fetch  me,  being  afraid  to  proceed  directly  to  Hoddam  Hill 
in  case  so  sudden  an  apparition  should  throw  the  whole  family  into 
hysterics.  If  the  pony  has  any  prior  engagement,  never  mind.  I 


180  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

can  make  a  shift  to  walk  two  miles  in  pleasant  company.  Any 
way,  pray  make  all  possible  despatch,  in  case  the  owner  of  these 
premises  should  think  I  intend  to  make  a  regular  settlement  in 
them.  Yours,  JANE.  " 

The  great  secret,  which  had  been  known  from  the  first  to  Mrs. 
Carlyle  and  suspected  by  the  rest,  was  now  the  open  property  of 
the  family  ;  and  all,  old  and  young,  with  mixed  feelings  of  delight 
and  anxiety,  were  looking  forward  to  the  appearance  of  the  lady 
who  was  soon  to  belong  to  them. 

"She  stayed  with  us  above  a  week  [Carlyle  writes],  happy,  as 
was  very  evident,  and  making  happy.  Her  demeanor  among  us 
I  could  define  as  unsurpassable,  spontaneously  perfect.  From  the 
first  moment  all  embarrassment,  even  my  mother's,  as  tremulous 
and  anxious  as  she  naturally  was,  fled  away  without  return.  Every- 
body felt  the  all-pervading  simple  grace,  the  perfect  truth  and  per- 
fect trustfulness  of  that  beautiful,  cheerful,  intelligent,  and  sprightly 
creature,  and  everybody  was  put  at  his  ease.  The  questionable  visit 
was  a  clear  success.  She  and  I  went  riding  about,  the  weather  dry 
and  gray,  nothing  ever  going  wrong  with  us ;  my  guidance  taken 
as  beyond  criticism ;  she  ready  for  any  pace,  rapid  or  slow,  melo- 
dious talk  never  wanting.  Of  course  she  went  to  Mainhill,  and 
made  complete  acquaintance  with  my  father  (whom  she  much  es- 
teemed and  even  admired,  now  and  henceforth — a  reciprocal  feeling, 
strange  enough),  and  with  my  two  elder  sisters,  Margaret  and  Mary, 
who  now  officially  kept  house  with  my  father  there.  On  the  whole, 
she  came  to  know  us  all,  saw  face  to  face  us  and  the  rugged  peas- 
ant element  and  way  of  life  we  had;  and  was  not  afraid  of  it,  but 
recognized,  like  her  noble  self,  what  of  intrinsic  worth  it  might 
have,  what  of  real  human  dignity.  She  charmed  all  hearts,  and 
was  herself  visibly  glad  and  happy,  right  loath  to  end  these  halcyon 
days,  eight  or  perhaps  nine  the  utmost  appointed  sum  of- them." 

Two  little  anecdotes  she  used  to  tell  of  this  visit,  showing  that 
under  peasant's  dresses  there  was  in  the  Carlyles  the  essential  sense 
of  delicate  high  breeding.  She  was  to  use  the  girls'  room  at  Main- 
hill  while  there;  and  it  was  rude  enough  in  its  equipments  as  they 
lived  in  it.  Margaret  Carlyle,  doing  her  little  best,  had  spread  on 
the  deal  table  for  a  cover  a  precious  new  shawl  which  some  friend 
had  given  her.  More  remarkable  was  her  reception  by  the  father. 
When  she  appeared  he  was  in  his  rough  dress,  called  in  from  his 
farm  work  on  the  occasion.  The  rest  of  the  family  kissed  her. 
The  old  man  to  her  surprise  drew  back,  and  soon  left  the  room. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back  again,  fresh  shaved  and  washed, 
and  in  his  Sunday  clothes.  "Now,"  he  said,  "if  Miss  Welsh  al- 
lows it,  I  am  in  a  condition  to  kiss  her  too. "  When  she  left  Hod- 
dam,  Carlyle  attended  her  back  to  Dumfries. 

"As  I  rode  with  her  [he  says],  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her 
sorrow,  and  indeed  our  prospect  ahead  was  cloudy  enough.  I  could 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  181 

only  say  '  Esperons,  esperons.'  To  her  the  Haddington  element  had 
grown  dreary  and  unfruitful ;  no  geniality  of  life  possible  there,  and 
I  doubt  not  many  paltry  frets  and  contradictions.  We  left  our 
horses  at  the  Commercial  Inn ;  I  walked  with  her,  not  in  gay  mood 
either,  to  her  grandmother's  threshold,  and  there  had  to  say  farewell. 
In  my  whole  life  I  can  recollect  no  week  so  like  a  Sabbath  as  that 
had  been  to  me — clear,  peaceful,  mournfully  beautiful,  and  as  if 
sacred." 

A  few  days  after  she  was  gone  Carlyle  wrote  the  following  entry 
in  his  most  intermittent  journal : 

"  Hoddam  Hill,  September  21,  1825. — A  hiatus  valde  deflendus. 
Since  the  last  line  was  written,  what  a  wandering  to  and  fro!  how 
many  sad  vicissitudes  of  despicable  suffering  and  inaction  have  I 
undergone!  This  little  book  and  the  desk  that  carries  it  have  passed 
a  summer  and  winter  in  London  since  I  last  opened  it ;  and  I,  their 
foolish  owner,  have  roamed  about  the  brick-built  Babylon,  the  sooty 
Brummagem,  and  Paris,  the  Vanity  Fair  of  our  modern  world. 
My  mood  of  mind  is  changed.  Is  it  improved?  Weiss  nicht.  This 
stagnation  is  not  peace;  or  is  it  the  peace  of  Galgacus's  Romans: 
'Ubi  solitudinem  faciunt,  pacem  appellant.'  How  difficult  it  is  to 
free  one's  mind  from  cant !  How  very  seldom  are  the  principles  we 
act  on  clear  to  our  own  reason !  Of  the  great  nostrums,  '  forgetful- 
ness  of  self  and  'humbling  of  vanity,'  it  were  better  therefore  to  say 
nothing.  In  my  speech  concerning  them  I  overcharge  the  impres- 
sion they  have  made  on  me,  for  my  conscience,  like  my  sense  of 
pain  and  pleasure,  has  grown  dull,  and  I  secretly  desire  to  compensate 
for  laxity  of  feeling  by  intenseness  of  describing.  How  much  of  these 
great  nostrums  is  the  product  of  necessity?  Am  I  like  a  sorry  hack, 
content  to  feed  on  heather  while  rich  clover  seems  to  lie  around  it 
at  a  little  distance,  because  in  struggling  to  break  the  tether  it  has 
almost  hanged  itself?  Oh  that  I  could  go  out  of  the  body  to  phi- 
losophize! that  I  could  ever  feel  as  of  old  the  glory  and  magnifi- 
cence of  things,  till  my  own  little  Me  (mein  kleines  Ich)  was  swal- 
lowed up  and  lost  in  them.  (Partly  cant!)  But  I  cannot,  I  can- 
not. Shall  I  ever  more?  Oott  weiss.  At  present  I  am  but  an  ab- 
gerissenes  Olied,  a  limb  torn  off  from  the  family  of  man,  excluded 
from  acting,  with  pain  for  my  companion,  and  hope,  that  comes  to 
all,  rarely  visiting  me,  and,  what  is  stranger,  rarely  desired  with  ve- 
hemence. Unhappy  man,  in  whom  the  body  has  gained  the  mastery 
over  the  soul!  Inverse  sensualist,  not  drawn  into  the  rank  of  beasts 
by  pleasure,  but.  driven  into  it  by  pain!  Hush!  hush!  Perhaps 
this  u  the  truce  which  weary  Nature  has  conquered  for  herself  to 
re-collect  her  scattered  strength.  Perhaps,  like  an  eagle  (or  a  goose) 
she  will  'renew  her  mighty  youth'  and  fly  against  the  sun  ;  or  at 
least  fish  haddocks  with  equanimity,  like  other  birds  of  similar  feath- 
er, and  no  more  lie  among  the  pots,  winged,  maimed,  and  plucked, 
doing  nothing  but  chirp  like  a  chicken  in  the  croup  for  the  livelong 
day.  '  Jook  and  let  the  law  gae  by, '  my  pretty  sir.  When  this 
solitude  becomes  intolerable  to  you  it  will  be  time  enough  to  quit 
it  for  the  dreary  blank  which  society  and  the  bitterest  activity  have 
I.-9 


182  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

hitherto  afforded  you.  You  deserve  considerable  pity,  Mr.  C.,  and 
likewise  considerable  contempt.  Heaven  be  your  comforter,  my 
worthy  sir!  You  are  in  a  promising  condition  at  this  present:  sink- 
ing to  the  bottom,  yet  laid  down  to  sleep;  Destruction  brandishing 
his  sword  above  you,  and  you  quietly  desiring  him  to  take  your 
life  but  spare  your  rest.  Oott  hilf  Ihnen  !  Now  for  Tieck  and  his 
Runenberg.  But  first  one  whiff  of  generous  narcotic.  '  How  glad- 
ly we  love  to  wander  on  the  plain  with  the  summit  in  our  eye!' 
Ach  Du  meine  Einzige  die  Du  mich  liebst  und  Dick  an  micli  an- 
schmiegst,  warum  bin  ich  Dir  wie  ein  gebroclienes  Bohr !  BoUst  Du 
niemals  glucklich  werden  ?  Wo  bist  Du  heute  Nacht  f  Mogen  Friede 
und  Liebe  und  Hoffnung  deine  Gefdhrten  seyn!  Leb'  wohl." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A.D.   1825.       JET.   30. 

Miss  WELSH  had  now  seen  with  her  own  eyes  the  realities  of  life 
in  a  small  Scotch  farm,  and  was  no  longer  afraid  of  it.  She  doubt- 
less distrusted  as  much  as  ever  Carlyle's  fitness  in  his  own  person 
for  agricultural  enterprises.  But  if  his  brother  would  take  the  work 
off  his  hands  he  could  himself  follow  his  own  more  proper  occupa- 
tions. She  had  recognized  the  sterling  worth  of  his  peasant  family, 
and  for  her  own  part  she  was  willing  to  share  their  method  of  exist- 
ence, sharply  contrasted  as  it  was  with  the  elegance  and  relative 
luxury  of  her  home  at  Haddington.  It  was  far  otherwise  with  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Welsh's  romantic  days  were  not  over.  They  were 
never  over  to  the  end  of  her  life;  but  she  had  no  romance  about  Car- 
lyle.  She  knew  better  than  her  daughter  how  great  the  sacrifice 
would  be,  and  the  experience  of  fifty  years  had  taught  her  that  reso- 
lutions adopted  in  enthusiasm  are  often  repented  of  when  excite- 
ment has  been  succeeded  by  the  wearing  duties  of  hard  every-day 
routine.  She  was  a  cultivated,  proud,  beautiful  woman,  who  had 
ruled  as  queen  in  the  society  of  a  Scotch  provincial  town.  Many 
suitors  had  presented  themselves  for  her  daughter's  hand,  unexcep- 
tionable in  person,  in  fortune,  in  social  standing.  Miss  Welsh's 
personal  attractions,  her  talents,  the  fair  if  moderate  fortune  which, 
though  for  the  present  she  had  surrendered  it,  must  be  eventually 
her  own,  would  have  entitled  her  to  choose  among  the  most  eligible 
matches  in  East  Lothian.  It  was  natural,  it  was  inevitable,  inde- 
pendent of  selfish  considerations,  that  she  could  not  look  without  a 
shudder  on  this  purposed  marriage  with  the  son  of  a  poor  Dumfries- 
shire farmer,  who  had  no  visible  prospects  and  no  profession,  and 
whose  abilities,  however  great  they  might  be,  seemed  only  to  unfit 
him  for  any  usual  or  profitable  pursuit.  Added  to  this,  Carlyle  him- 
self had  not  attracted  her.  She  was  accustomed  to  rule,  and  Car- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  183 

lylc  would  not  be  ruled.  She  had  obstinate  humors,  and  Carlyle, 
who  never  checked  his  own  irritabilities,  was  impatient  and  sarcas- 
tic when  others  ventured  to  be  unreasonable.  She  had  observed 
and  justly  dreaded  the  violence  of  his  temper,  which  when  he  was 
provoked  or  thwarted  would  boil  like  a  geyser.  He  might  repent 
afterwards  of  these  ebullitions;  he  usually  did  repent.  But  repent- 
ance could  not  take  away  the  sting  of  the  passionate  expressions, 
which  fastened  in  the  memory  by  the  metaphors  with  which  they 
were  barbed,  especially  as  there  was  no  amendment,  and  the  offence 
was  repeated  on  the  next  temptation.  It  will  easily  be  conceived, 
therefore,  that  the  meeting  between  mother  and  daughter  after  the 
Hoddam  visit,  and  Miss  Welsh's  announcement  of  her  final  resolu- 
tion, was  extremely  painful.  Miss  Welsh  wrote  to  Carlyle  an  ac- 
count of  what  had  passed.  His  letter  in  reply  bears  the  same  em- 
blem of  the  burning  candle,  with  the  motto,  "  Terar  dum  prosim," 
which  he  had  before  sketched  in  his  journal.  He  was  fond  of  a  de- 
sign which  represented  human  life  to  him  under  its  sternest  aspect:1 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"Hoddam  Hill:  November  4,  1825. 

"...  Let  us  be  patient  and  resolute,  and  trust  in  ourselves  and 
each  other.  I  maintain  that  the  weal  of  every  human  being,  not 
perhaps  his  enjoyment  or  his  suffering,  but  his  true  and  highest 
welfare,  lies  within  himself.  Oh  that  we  had  wisdom  to  put  this 
weighty  truth  in  practice:  to  know  our  duty — for  a  duty  every  liv- 
ing creature  has — and  to  do  it  with  our  whole  heart  and  our  whole 
soul.  This  is  the  everlasting  rock  of  man's  security  against  which 
no  tempest  or  flood  shall  prevail.  '  Sufficiently  provided  for  with- 
in,' the  outward  gifts  or  amercements  of  fortune  are  but  the  soft  or 
the  hard  materials  out  of  which  he  is  to  build  his  fairest  work  of  art, 
a  life  worthy  of  himself  and  the  vocation  wherewith  he  is  called. 
But  I  am  verging  towards  cant,  so  I  shall  hasten  to  the  right-about. 

"Your  mother  is  not  wise  or  just  in  spoiling  the  stinted  enjoy- 
ments of  your  present  way  of  life  by  the  reflections  and  remon- 
strances with  which  she  pursues  you.  Her  views  of  me  and  my 
connection  with  you  I  cannot  justly  blame;  they  coincide  too  near- 
ly with  my  own.  But  what,  one  might  ask  her,  does  she  mean  you 
to  do?  Anything?  If  so,  it  were  better  that  she  simply  proposed 
it,  and  backed  it  out  by  all  attainable  reasons  in  simplicity  and  quiet, 
that  if  just  and  fit  you  might  go  through  with  it  at  all  haps  and  haz- 
ards instantly  and  completely.  If  nothing,  then  silence  is  the  least 
that  can  be  asked  of  her.  Speech  that  leads  not  to  action,  still  more 
that  hinders  it,  is  a  nuisance  on  the  earth.  Let  us  remember  this,  as 
well  as  call  on  others  to  remember  it.  But,  after  all,  where  is  the 
mighty  grief?  Is  it  ruin  for  you  to  think  of  giving  yourself  to  me, 
here  as  I  am,  in  the  naked  undissembled  meanness  of  my  actual 
state?  Consider  this  with  a  cold  clear  eye,  not  in  the  purple  light 

1  See  p.  113. 


184  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  love,  but  in  the  sharp  still  light  of  prudence.  If  your  mind  still 
have  any  wavering,  follow  the  truth  fearlessly,  not  heeding  me,  for  I 
am  ready  with  alacrity  to  forward  your  anticipated  happiness  in  any 
way.  Or  was  this  your  love  of  me  no  girlish  whim,  but  the  calm, 
deliberate  self-offering  of  a  woman  to  the  man  whom  her  reason  and 
her  heart  had  made  choice  of?  Then  is  it  a  crime  in  you  to  love  me, 
whose  you  are  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man? 

"  The  story  of  my  temper  is  not  worth  much.  I  actually  do  not 
think  myself  an  ill-natured  man,  nor  even,  all  things  considered,  very 
ill-tempered!  Really  it  is  wearisome  to  think  of  these  things.  What 
counsel  to  give  you  I  know  not.  Submission  has  its  limits.  When 
not  based  on  conviction  it  degenerates  into  hypocrisy,  and  encour- 
ages demands  which  perhaps  ought  to  be  resisted.  But  in  asserting 
your  rights  be  meek  and  reasonable.  What  is  this  caprice  and  em- 
lenness  in  your  mother  but  unhappiness  in  herself — an  effort  to  in- 
crease her  own  scanty  stock  of  satisfaction  at  your  expense ;  or  rath- 
er to  shift  a  portion  of  her  own  suffering  upon  you  ?  She  cannot 
cease  to  love  you,  and  this  is  saying  much.  For  me  I  beg  you  to 
take  no  thought.  Her  anger  at  me,  her  aversion  to  me,  shall  never 
be  remembered  against  her.  She  thinks  of  me  in  the  main,  to  the 
full  as  highly  as  she  ought ;  and  these  gusts  of  unreasonable  caprice 
should  be  met  by  increased  equability,  and  steady  forgiving  self- 
possession,  as  angry  gusts  of  wind  are  rendered  harmless  not  by 
other  conflicting  gusts,  but  by  a  solid  wall  of  stone  and  mortar." 

While  on  the  Haddington  side  the  contemplated  alliance  was  so 
distasteful,  two  letters  from  Miss  Welsh,  one  to  Carlyle's  mother,  the 
other  to  his  little  sister  Jane,  show  how  playfully  and  prettily  she 
had  thrown  herself  into  the  ways  of  the  Mainhill  household,  and 
adopted  their  expressions.  With  Jane  she  had  assumed  the  privi- 
lege of  an  elder  sister,  and  charged  herself  with  the  direction  of  her 
education.  Carlyle  has  written  a  short  preface  to  each: 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Hoddam  Hill. 

"  [There  are  snatches  of  coterie  speech  in  this  letter,  two  quite  of 
new  date,  brought  from  Hoddam  Hill,  which  I  must  explain. 

"  'Broad  Atlantic  of  his  countenance'  was  a  phrase  I  had  noticed 
in  some  stupidly  adoring  '  Life  of  Fox,'  and  been  in  use  to  apply  to 
my  brother  John,  whose  face  also  was  broad  enough  (and  full  of 
honesty  and  good-humor,  poor  fellow !)..  From  him  also  comes  the 
other  phrase,  '  mixture  of  good  and  evil. '  He  was  wont  in  his  babbly 
way,  while  at  breakfast  with  mother  and  rne,  to  remark  when  the 
least  thing  was  complained  of  or  went  wrong,  '  Nothing  but  evil  in 
the  world,  mother!'  till  one  day  mother  took  him  sharply  up  on 
theological  grounds.  Ever  onward  from  which  he  used  to  make  it 
'Nothing  but  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil.'  He  had  many  mock  ut- 
terances of  this  kind:  'Comes  all  to  the  same  ultimately,'  'What 
d'ye  think  of  life  this  morning?'  etc.,  over  which  we  had  our  laugh- 
ing and  counter  -  laughing,  borne  with  perfect  gravity  always,  and 
perfect  patience,  but  producing  no  abatement  of  the  practice.  One 
morning,  however,  he  did  get  a  retort,  which  rather  stuck  to  him. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLTLE.  185 

Addressing  his  mother  with  '  What  d'ye  think  of  life,  mother  ?' 
'What  does  t'ou  (thou)  think  o'  death  tho'?'  answered  she  with  a 
veritably  serious  and  crypto  -  contemptuous  tone,  which  was  not 
forgotten  again. 

"'Christian  comfoart'  comes  from  a  certain  Mrs.  Carruthers  of 
Haregills,  a  cousin  of  my  mother;  Bell  by  maiden  name,  solid,  rather 
stupid,  farmer's  wife  by  station.  Meeting  once  with  Frank  Dickson 
(a  speculative  Tartar  he,  unluckily  for  her),  she  had  been  heard  to 
wind  up  some  lofty  lilt  with,  '  Sir,  it  is  the  great  scarce  of  Christian 
comfoart,'  accent  on  the  last  syllable  and  sound  oa,  Annandale 
only.— T.  C.]" 

"George  Square,  Edinburgh:  November  14. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Carlyle, — In  the  busy  idleness  of  my  present  situ- 
ation I  have  little  leisure  to  write  or  to  do  any  rational  thing;  but  it 
is  best  I  should  fulfil  my  promise  to  you  now  rather  than  wait  for  a 
more  quiet  season,  that  you  may  know  that  even  the  turmoil  of  a 
great  city  cannot  seduce  me  into  forgetfulness  of  the  Hill.  Indeed, 
the  more  I  am  in  the  way  of  what  is  commonly  called  pleasure,  the 
more  I  think  of  the  calm  days  which  I  spent  under  your  roof.  I 
have  never  been  so  happy  since ;  though  I  have  been  at  several  fine 
entertainments,  where  much  thought  and  pains  and  money  were  ex- 
pended to  assemble  the  ingredients  of  enjoyment ;  and  this  is  nowise 
strange,  since  affection  is  the  native  element  of  my  soul,  and  that  I 
found  in  your  cottage  warm  and  pure,  while  in  more  splendid  habi- 
tations it  is  chilled  with  vanity,  affectation,  and  selfishness.  For 
'there  is  nothing  but  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil  in  the  world, 
mother;'  and  thus  some  have  'the  dinner  of  herbs  where  love  is,' 
others  'the  stalled  ox  and  hatred  therewith.' 

"I  left  Templand  on  Thursday  last  after  many  delays,  but  in  no 
such  downcast  mood  as  at  my  departure  from  the  Hill.  Indeed,  I 
was  never  in  my  life  more  pleased  to  turn  my  face  homewards, 
where,  if  I  have  not  suitable  society  any  more  than  in  Nithsdale,  I 
can  at  least  enjoy  what  is  next  best,  solitude.  But  all  my  impatience 
to  see  Haddington  failed  to  make  the  journey  hither  agreeable,  which 
was  as  devoid  of  '  Christian  comfoart '  as  anything  you  can  suppose. 
Never  was  poor  damsel  reduced  to  such  '  extremities  of  fate.'  I  was 
sick,  wofully  sick,  and,  notwithstanding  that  I  had  on  four  petti- 
coats, benumbed  with  cold.  To  make  my  wretchedness  as  complete 
as  possible,  we  did  not  reach  Edinburgh  till  many  hours  after  dark. 
Sixteen  miles  more,  and  my  wanderings  for  this  season  are  at  an  end. 
Would  that  my  trials  were  ended  also!  But  no!  Tell  Mr.  Carlyle 
my  handsome  cousin  is  coming  to  Haddington  with  his  sister  Phoebe, 
and  his  valet  Henley,  and  his  great  dog  Toby,  over  and  above  Dash, 
Craigen,  Fanny,  and  Frisk.  My  heart  misgives  me  at  the  prospect 
of  this  inundation  of  company,  for  their  ways  are  not  my  ways,  and 
what  is  amusement  to  them  is  "death  to  me.  But  I  must  just  be  pa- 
tient as  usual.  Verily  I  should  need  to  be  Job,  instead  of  Jane  Welsh, 
to  bear  these  everlasting  annoyances  with  any  degree  of  composure. 

"  Mr.  Carlyle  must  write  next  week  without  fail  to  Haddington, 
lest  in  vexation  of  spirit  I  curse  God  and  die.  Moreover,  he  must 
positively  part  with  Larry,  and  get  a  horse  of  less  genius  in  his 


186  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

stead,  if  he  would  not  have  me  live  in  continual  terror  of  his  life.1 
If  the  fates  are  kind,  and  the  good  doctor2  a  man  of  his  word,  he 
will  be  in  this  city  to-morrow,  so  that  I  have  some  hope  to  feast  my 
eyes  on  '  the  broad  Atlantic  of  his  countenance,'  and  hear  all  about 
my  dear  friends  at  the  Hill  before  I  go.  How  does  Jane's  Latin 
prosper?  Tell  her  to  write  a  postscript  in  her  brother's  next  letter. 
You  must  excuse  this  hurried  epistle.  I  am  writing  under  many 
eyes  and  in  the  noise  of  many  tongues.  God  bless  you. 

"  I  am  always  affectionately  yours,          JANE  B.  WELSH." 

The  next  letter  is  to  Jean  Carlyle,  which  is  prefaced  by  Carlyle 
thus: 

"  This  Jean  Carlyle  is  my  second  youngest  sister,  then  a  little 
child  of  twelve.  The  youngest  sister,  youngest  of  us  all,  was  Jenny 
(Janet),  now  Mrs.  Robert  Banning,  in  Hamilton,  Canada  West. 
These  little  beings,  in  their  bits  of  gray  speckled  (black  and  white) 
straw  bonnets,  I  recollect  as  a  pair  of  neat  brisk  items,  tripping  about 
among  us  that  summer  at  the  Hill,  especially  Jean  (only  by  euphe- 
mism Jane),  the  bigger  of  the  two,  who  was  a  constant  quantity  there. 
The  small  Jenny  (I  think  in  some  pet)  had  unexpectedly  flung  her- 
self off  and  preferred  native  independence  at  Mainhill.  Jean,  from 
her  black  eyes  and  hair,  had  got  the  name  of  '  Craw  Jean '  among 
us,  or  often  of  '  Craw '  simply.  That  was  my  mother's  complexion 
too;  but  the  other  seven  of  us,  like  our  father,  were  all  of  common 
blond.  Jean  was  an  uncommonly  open-minded,  gifted,  ingenuous, 
and  ingenious  little  thing,  true  as  steel  (never  told  a  fib  from  her 
birth  upwards),  had,  once  or  so,  shown  suddenly  a  will  like  steel  too 
(when  indisputably  in  the  right,  as  I  have  heard  her  mother  own  to 
me),  otherwise  a  most  loving,  cheerful,  amenable  creature,  hungering 
and  thirsting  for  all  kinds  of  knowledge ;  had  a  lively  sense  of  the 
ridiculous  withal,  and  already  something  of  what  you  might  call 
'humor.'  She  was  by  this  time  in  visible  favor  with  me,  which 
doubtless  she  valued  sufficiently.  One  of  the  first  things  I  had  noted 
of  her  was  five  or  six  years  ago  in  one  of  my  rustications  at  Main- 
hill,  when  in  the  summer  evenings  brothers  Alick  and  John  and  I 
used  to  go  out  wandering  extensively  and  talking  ditto  till  gloam- 
ing settled  into  dark,  always  I  observed  little  Craw  turned  up,  either 
at  our  starting  or  somewhere  afterwards,  trotting  at  my  side,  head 
hardly  higher  than  my  knee,  but  eagerly  thrown  back  and  listening 
with  zeal  and  joy:  no  kind  of  'sport'  equal  to  this,  for  her,  pursuit 
of  knowledge  under  difficulties.  Poor  little  Craw! 

"  My  darling  took  warmly  to  her  for  my  sake  and  the  child's  own. 
This  was  the  first  time  they  had  met.  '  Such  a  child  ought  to  be 
educated,'  said  she,  with  generous  emphasis,  and  felt  steadily,  and, 

>  Larry  had  run  away  with  Carlyle,  thrown  him,  and  dragged  him  some  yards  along 
the  road.  He  rode  up  to  a  late  period  in  his  life;  but  he  always  had  a  loose  seat,  and 
his  mind  was  busy  with  anything  but  attending  to  his  horse.  Fritz,  his  last,  a  present 
from  Lady  Ashburton,  carried  him  safely  for  many  ye.irs  through  the  London  streets, 
to  the  astonishment  of  most  of  his  friends.  I  asked  him  once  how  he  had  Mcaped 
misadventure.  "  It  was  Fritz,"  he  said.  "He  was  a  very  sensible  fellow.  I  suppose 
he  had  not  been  brought  up  to  think  that  the  first  duty  of  a  horse  was  to  say  some- 
thing witty."  »  John  Carlyle. 


LITE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  187 

indeed,  took  herself,  for  some  years  onwards,  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
and  practical  pains  about  it,  as  this  letter  may  still  indicate.  Little 
Jean  was  had  to  Comely  Bank, l  for  a  good  few  months,  got  her  les- 
sons, etc.,  attended  us  to  Craigenputtock,  hoping  to  try  farther  there 
too ;  but  in  the  chaos  of  incipience  there  (a  rather  dark  and  even  dis- 
mal chaos,  had  not  my  Jane  been  a  daughter  of  the  Sun)  this  was 
found  impracticable;  and  Scotsbrig,  father's  place,2  coveting  and  al- 
most grudging  the  little  Jean's  bits  of  labor  within  doors  and  with- 
out, she  had  to  give  the  project  up  and  return  to  her  own  way  of 
life,  which  she  loyally  did;  grew  up  a  peasant  girl,  got  no  farther 
special  education,  though  she  has  since  given  herself  consciously 
and  otherwise  not  a  little,  both  of  the  practical  and  speculative  sort; 
and  is  at  this  day  to  be  named  fairly  a  superior  woman,  superior  in 
extent  of  reading,  culture,  etc.,  and  still  better  in  veracity  of  charac- 
ter, sound  discernment,  and  practical  wisdom ;  wife  for  a'bove  thirty- 
five  years  now3  of  James  Aitken,  a  prosperous,  altogether  honest, 
valiant,  intelligent  and  substantial  man,  house-painter  in  Dumfries 
by  trade  ;  parents  they,  too,  of  my  bright  little  niece,  Mary  C.  Ait- 
ken,  who  copies  for  me,  and  helps  me  all  she  can  hi  this  my  final 
operation  in  the  world. " 

To  Miss  Jane  Carlyle,  Hoddam  Hill. 

"  Haddington :  November,  1825. 

"My  affectionate  Child, — It  grieved  me  to  learn  from  your  good 
little  postscript,4  that  the  poor  Latin  was  already  come  to  a  stand; 
for  I  would  fain  see  the  talents  with  which  nature  has  intrusted 
you  not  buried  in  ignorance,  but  made  the  most  of.  Nevertheless,  I 
do  not  blame  you,  because  you  have  despaired  of  accomplishing  an 
impossibility;  for  it  is  impossible  for  you,  sure  enough,  to  make  any 
great  attainment  of  scholarship  in  the  circumstances  in  which  you 
are  already  placed.  You  must  on  no  account,  however,  abandon  the 
idea  of  becoming  a  scholar,  for  good,  because  it  is  beyond  your  abil- 
ity to  carry  it  into  effect  just  as  soon  as  you  wish;  for  your  circum- 
stances, by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  may  be  in  process  of  time  rendered 
more  towardly ;  but  should  the  noble  desire  of  knowledge  die  away 
within  you,  you  would  indeed  cruelly  disappoint  my  hopes.  More- 
over, though  the  acquirement  of  a  foreign  language  has  proved  too 
difficult  a  matter  for  you  in  the  time  being,  I  see  nothing  that  there 
is  to  hinder  you  from  reading  many  instructive  books  in  your  own. 
For  your  mother  cannot  be  so  hard  a  task-mistress,  that  she  would 
refuse  you  two  hours  or  so  in  the  day  to  yourself,  provided  she  saw 
that  they  were  turned  to  a  profitable  account.  Here  is  a  copy  of 
"  Cowper's  Poems"  for  you,  with  which  I  expect  you  will  presently 
commence  a  regular  course  of  reading.  Your  brother  is  able,  and  I 
am  sure  will  be  most  willing,  to  direct  you  in  the  choice  of  books; 
and  on  this  account  you  ought  to  be  exceedingly  thankful,  as  many 
for  want  of  such  direction  have  to  seek  knowledge  by  a  weary  circuit. 

' '  Had  Providence  been  less  kind  to  you  in  the  relation  you  hold 

1  Where  Carlyle  first  lived,  as  will  be  seen,  after  his  marriage. 

a  To  which  old  Mr.  Carlyle  removed  from  Mainhill  in  the  year  following. 

*  Written  in  1868.  «  "Doubtless  of  some  letter  from  me.— T.  C." 


188  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

in  life,  you  should  get  many  an  epistle  from  me  full  of  the  best  ad- 
vices I  have  to  give  ;  for  I  love  you,  my  good  little  girl,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  and  desire  earnestly  that  it  should  be  well  with 
you  in  this  world  as  well  as  in  the  world  to  come.  But  when  I  con- 
sider the  piety  and  goodness  of  the  mother  who  has  you  in  her  bosom, 
and  that  he  whose  wisdom  I  bow  myself  before  is  your  brother,  I  feel 
it  idle  and  presumptuous  in  me  to  offer  you  any  counsel,  when  in  the 
precepts  and  example  of  those  about  you,  you  have  already  such  a 
light  to  your  path.  Do  but  continue,  my  dear  Jean,  a  dutiful  daugh- 
ter and  a  loving  sister,  and  you  are  sure  to  grow  up  an  estimable 
woman.  If  we  can  make  you  also  an  accomplished  woman,  so 
much  the  better. 

"  One  thing  more  when  I  am  about  it.  Look  sharp  that  you  fulfil 
the  written  promise  which  you  gave  me  at  parting ;  for  know  that  I 
am  not  disposed  to  remit  you  the  smallest  tittle  of  it.  And  now  God 
bless  and  keep  you.  I  am  always  your  attached  friend, 

"JANE  BAILLIE  WELSH." 

After  the  bright  interlude  of  Miss  Welsh's  visit  to  Hoddam,  life 
soon  became  as  industrious  as  Carlyle  has  described.  The  mornings 
were  spent  in  work  over  the  "German  Tales,"  the  afternoons  in 
rides,  Larry  remaining  still  in  favor  notwithstanding  his  misdemean- 
ors. In  the  evenings  he  and  his  mother,  perhaps,  smoked  their  pipes 
together,  as  they  used  to  do  at  Mainhill,  she  in  admiring  anxiety  la- 
boring to  rescue  his  soul  from  the  temptations  of  the  intellect ;  he 
satisfying  her,  for  she  was  too  willing  to  be  satisfied,  that  they  meant 
the  same  thing,  though  they  expressed  it  in  different  languages.  He 
was  meditating  a  book,  a  real  book  of  his  own,  not  a  translation, 
though  he  was  still  unable  to  fasten  upon  a  subject ;  while  the  sense 
that  he  was  in  his  own  house,  lord  of  it  and  lord  of  himself,  and  able 
if  he  pleased  to  shut  his  door  against  all  comers,  was  delightful  to 
him. 

"It  is  inexpressible  [he  wrote]  what  an  increase  of  happiness  and 
of  consciousness,  wholesome  consciousness  of  inward  dignity,  I  have 
gained  since  I  came  within  the  walls  of  this  poor  cottage — my  own 
four  walls — for  in  this  state  the  primeval  law  of  nature  acts  on  me 
with  double  and  triple  force  ;  and  how  cheaply  it  is  purchased,  and 
how  smoothly  managed  !  They  simply  admit  that  I  am  Herr  im 
Hause,  and  act  on  this  conviction.  There  is  no  grumbling  about 
my  habitudes  and  whims.  If  I  choose  to  dine  on  fire  and  brimstone, 
they  will  cook  it  for  me  to  their  best  skill,  thinking  only  that  I  am 
an  unintelligible  mortal,  perhaps  in  their  secret  souls  a  kind  of  hu- 
morist, facheux  to  deal  with,  but  no  bad  soul  after  all,  and  not  to  be 
dealt  with  in  any  other  way.  My  own  four  walls  !" 

This  expression,  repeated  twice,  suggests  the  possible  date  of  a 
poem — the  only  poem,  perhaps,  that  Carlyle  ever  wrote  which  is 
really  characteristic  of  him.  It  was  written  either  at  Hoddam  or  at 
Craigenputtock.  In  some  respects — in  the  mention  of  a  wife,  espe- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  189 

cially — it  suits  Craigenputtock  best.    But  perhaps  his  imagination 
was  looking  forward : 

"MY  OWN  FOUR  WALLS. 

"The  storm  and  night  is  on  the  waste, 

Wild  through  the  wind  the  herdsman  calls, 
As  last  on  willing  nag  I  haste 
Home  to  my  owii  four  walls. 

"Black  tossing  clouds  with  scarce  n  glimmer 

Envelope  earth  like  sevenfold  palls  ; 
But  wifekin  watches,  coffee-pot  doth  simmer, 
Home  in  my  own  four  walls. 

"A  home  and  wife  I  too  have  got, 

A  hearth  to  blaze  whate'er  befalls  ; 
What  needs  a  man  that  I  have  not 
Within  my  own  four  walls? 

"  King  George  has  palaces  of  pride, 

And  armed  grooms  must  ward  those  halls  ; 
With  one  stout  boll  I  safe  abide 
Within'my  own  four  walls. 

"  Not  all  his  men  may  sever  this, 

It  yields  to  friends',  not  monarchs',  calls ; 
My  whiustone  house  my  castle  is — 
I  have  my  own  four  walls. 

"  When  fools  or  knaves  do  make  a  rout 
With  gigmen,  dinners,  balls,  cabals, 
I  turn  my  back  and  shut  them  out: 
These  are  my  own  four  walls. 

"  The  moorland  house,  though  rude  it  be, 

May  stand  the  brunt  when  prouder  falls  ; 
'Twill  screen  my  wife,  my  books,  and  me, 
All  in  my  own  four  walls." 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  Carlyle  had  a  glimpse  of  Irving  at 
Annan. 

' '  I  had  next  to  no  correspondence  with  Irving  [he  says] ;  a  little 
note  or  so  on  business,  nothing  more.  Nor  was  Mrs.  Montagu  much 
more  instructive  on  that  head,  who  wrote  me  high-sounding  amiable 
things  which  I  could  not  but  respond  to  more  or  less,  though  dimly 
aware  of  their  quality.  Nor  did  the  sincere  and  ardent  Mrs.  Strach- 
ey,  who  wrote  seldomer,  almost  ever  touch  upon  Irving.  But  by 
some  occasional  unmelodious  clang  in  all  the  newspapers  (twice  over 
I  think  in  this  year)  we  could  sufficiently  and  with  little  satisfaction 
construe  his  way  of  life.  Twice  over  he  had  leaped  the  barriers  and 
given  rise  to  criticisms  of  the  customary  idle  sort,  loudish  universal- 
ly and  nowhere  accurately  just.  Case  first  was  of  preaching  to  the 
London  Missionary  Society  (Missionary  I  will  call  it,  though  it  might 
be  'Bible,'  or  another).  On  their  grand  anniversary  these  people 
had  assigned  him  the  honor  of  addressing  them,  and  were  numer- 
ously assembled,  expecting  some  flourishes  of  eloquence  and  flatter- 
ies to  their  illustrious,  divinely  blessed  society,  ingeniously  done  and 
especially  with  fit  brevity;  dinner  itself  waiting,  I  suppose,  close  in 
the  rear.  Irving  emerged  into  his  speaking  place  at  the  due  mo- 
ment; but  instead  of  treating  men  and  office-bearers  to  a  short,  com- 

9* 


190  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

fortable  dose  of  honey  and  butter,  opened  into  strict,  sharp  inquiries, 
rhadamanthine  expositions  of  duty  and  ideal,  issuing,  perhaps,  in 
actual  criticism  and  admonition ;  gall  and  vinegar  instead  of  honey; 
at  any  rate,  keeping  the  poor  people  locked  up  there  '  for  above  two 
hours,'  instead  of  an  hour  or  less,  with  dinners  hot  at  the  end  of  it. 
This  was  much  criticised  :  '  Plainly  wrong,  and  produced  by  love  of 
singularity  and  too  much  pride  in  one's  self ,'  voted  everybody.  For, 
in  fact,  a  man  suddenly  holding  up  the  naked  inexorable  ideal  in  the 
face  of  the  clothed  (and  in  England  generally  plump,  comfortable, 
and  pot-bellied)  reality  is  doing  an  unexpected  and  questionable 
thing. 

"The  next  escapade  was  still  worse.  At  some  public  meeting, 
probably  of  the  same  'Missionary  Society,'  Irving  again  held  up  his 
Ideal,  I  think  not  without  murmurs  from  former  sufferers  by  it,  and 
ended  by  solemnly  putting  down,  not  his  name  to  the  subscription 
list,  but  an  actual  gold  watch,  which  he  said  had  just  arrived  to  him 
from  his  beloved  brother  lately  dead  in  India.1  That  of  the  gold 
watch  tabled  had  in  reality  a  touch  of  rasli  ostentation,  and  was  bit- 
terly crowed  over  by  all  the  able  editors  for  a  time.  On  the  whole 
one  could  gather  too  clearly  that  Irving's  course  was  beset  with  pit- 
falls, barking  dogs,  and  dangers  and  difficulties  unwarned  of ;  and 
that  for  one  who  took  so  little  counsel  with  prudence,  he  perhaps 
carried  his  head  too  high.  I  had  a  certain  harsh  kind  of  sorrow 
about  poor  Irving,  and  my  loss  of  him  (and  his  loss  of  me  on  such 
poor  terms  as  these  seemed  to  me),  but  I  carelessly  trusted  in  his 
strength  against  whatever  mistakes  and  impediments,  and  felt  that 
for  the  present  it  was  better  to  be  absolved  from  corresponding  with 
him. 

"That  same  year,  late  in  autumn,  he  was  at  Annan  only  for  a 
night  and  a  day,  returning  from  some  farther  journey,  perhaps  to 
Glasgow  or  Edinburgh,  and  had  to  go  on  again  for  London  next 
day.  I  rode  down  from  Hoddam  Hill  before  nightfall,  found  him 
sitting  in  the  snug  little  parlor  beside  his  father  and  mother,  beauti- 
fully domestic.  I  think  it  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  those  good 
old  people.  We  sat  only  a  few  minutes,  my  thoughts  sadly  con- 
trasting the  beautiful  affectionate  safety  here  and  the  wild  tempestu- 
ous hostilities  and  perils  yonder.  He  left  his  blessing  to  each  by 
name  in  a  low  soft  voice.  There  was  something  almost  tragical  to 
me  as  he  turned  round,  hitting  his  hat  on  the  little  door  lintel,  and 
next  moment  was  on  the  dark  street  followed  only  by  me.  His  plan 
of  journey  was  to  catch  the  Glasgow  London  mail  at  Gretna,  and 
to  walk  thither,  the  night  being  dry.  We  stepped  over  to  Robert  Dick- 
son's,  his  brother-in-law's,  and  sate  there  still  talking  for  perhaps  ail 
hour.  He  looked  sad  and  serious,  not  in  the  least  downhearted; 
told  us,  probably  in  answer  to  some  question  of  mine,  that  the  pro- 
jected London  University  seemed  to  be  progressing  towards  fulfil- 
ment, and  how,  at  some  meeting,  Poet  Campbell,  arguing  loudly  for 


1  This  brother  was  John,  the  eldest  of  the  three,  an  Indian  army  surgeon,  whom  I 
remember  once  meeting  on  a  common  stair  in  Edinburgh,  on  return,  I  suppose,  from 
a  call  on  some  comrade  higher  up:  a  taller  man  than  even  Edward,  and  with  a  bloom- 
ing, placid,  not  very  intelligent  face. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  191 

a  purely  secular  system,  had  on  eight  of  Irving  entering  at  once 
stopped  short,  and  in  the  politest  manner  he  could,  sat  down  with- 
out another  word  on  the  subject.  '  It  will  be  wwreligious,  secretly 
rt/ii!/-religious  all  the  same,'  said  Irving  to  us. 

"When  the  time  had  come  for  setting  out,  and  we  were  all  on 
foot,  he  called  for  his  three  little  nieces,  having  their  mother  by 
him,  made  them  each  successively  stand  on  a  chair,  laid  his  hand  on 
the  head  first  of  one,  with  a  'Mary  Dickson,  the  Lord  bless  you,' 
then  of  the  next  by  name,  and  of  the  next ;  '  the  Lord  bless  you,'  in 
a  sad,  solemn  tone,  with  something  of  elaborate  noticeable  in  it 
too ;  which  was  painful  and  dreary  to  me ;  a  dreary  visit  altogether, 
though  an  unabatedly  affectionate  on  both  sides — in  what  a  contrast, 
thought  I,  to  the  old  sunshiny  visits  when  Glasgow  was  head-quar- 
ters, and  everybody  was  obscure,  frank  to  his  feelings,  and'saf e.  Mrs. 
Dickson,  I  think,  had  tears  in  her  eyes.  Her  too  he  doubtless  bless- 
ed, but  without  hand  on  head.  Dickson  and  the  rest  of  us  escorted 
him  a  little  way.  We  parted  in  the  howling  of  the  north  wind,  and 
I  turned  back  across  the  moors  to  Hoddam  Hill  to  meditate  in  silence 
on  the  chances  and  changes  of  this  strange  whirlpool  of  a  world."1 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A.D.  1826.      ^ET.  31. 

THE  life  at  Hoddam  Hill,  singularly  happy  while  it  lasted,  and 
promising  to  last,  was  not  after  all  of  long  continuance.  Differ- 
ences with  the  landlord,  General  Sharpe,  rose  to  a  quarrel,  in  which 
old  Mr.  Carlyle  took  his  son's  part.  Hoddam  Hill  was  given  up ; 
the  lease  of  Mainhill,  expiring  at  the  same  time,  was  not  renewed, 
and  the  whole  family,  Carlyle  himself  with  the  rest,  removed  to 
Scotsbrig,  a  substantial  farm  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ecclefechan, 
where  the  elder  Carlyles  remained  to  the  end  of  their  lives,  and 
where  their  youngest  son  succeeded  them. 

The  break-up  at  Hoddam  precipitated  the  conclusion  of  Carlyle's 
protracted  relations  with  Miss  Welsh.  He  sums  up  briefly  his  rec- 
ollections of  the  story  of  this  year,  which  was  in  every  way  so  mo- 
mentous io  him : 

"My  translation  (German  Romance)  went  steadily  on,  the  pleas- 
antest  labor  I  ever  had;  could  be  done  by  task  in  whatever  humor 
or  condition  one  was  in,  and  was  day  by  day  (ten  pages  a  day,  I 
think)  punctually  and  comfortably  so  performed.  Internally,  too, 
there  were  far  higher  things  going  on ;  a  grand  and  ever-joyful 
victory  getting  itself  achieved  at  last!  The  final  chaining  down, 

i  The  last  paragraph  is  taken  from  a  contemporary  description  of  the  scene.  The 
rest.  MS  most  complete,  is  from  the  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  290,  and  is  a  curious 
illustration  of  the  miuute  exactness  of  Carlyle's  memory. 


192  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

trampling  home  '  for  good,'  home  into  their  caves  forever  of  all  my 
spiritual  dragons,  which  had  wrought  me  such  woe,  and  for  a  dec- 
ade past  had  made  my  life  black  and  bitter.1  This  year  1826  saw 
the  end  of  all  that,  with  such  a  feeling  on  my  part  as  may  be  fan- 
cied. I  found  it  to  be  essentially  what  Methodist  people  call  their 
'conversion,' the  deliverance  of  their  souls  from  the  devil  and  the 
pit;  precisely  enough  that,  in  new  form.  And  there  burnt  accord- 
ingly a  sacred  flame  of  joy  in  me,  silent  in  my  inmost  being,  as  of 
one  henceforth  superior  to  fate,  able  to  look  down  on  its  stupid  in- 
juries, with  contempt,  pardon,  and  almost  with  a  kind  of  thanks  and 
pity.  This  'holy  joy,'  of  which  I  kept  silence,  lasted  sensibly  in 
me  for  several  years  in  blessed  countcipoise  to  sufferings  and  dis- 
couragements enough ;  nor  has  it  proved  what  I  can  call  fallacious 
at  any  time  since.  My  '  spiritual  dragons,'  thank  Heaven,  do  still  re- 
main strictly  in  their  caves,  forgotten  and  dead,  which  is  indeed  a 
conquest,  and  the  beginning  of  conquests.  I  rode  about  a  great  deal 
in  all  kinds  of  weather  that  winter  and  summer,  generally  quite 
alone,  and  did  not  want  for  meditations,  no  longer  of  defiantly  hope- 
less or  quite  impious  nature. 

"Meanwhile,  if  on  the  spiritual  side  all  went  well,  one  poor 
item  on  the  temporal  side  went  ill :  a  paltry  but  essential  item — our 
lease  arrangements  of  Hoddam  Hill.  The  lease  had  been  hurriedly 
settled,  on  word  of  mouth  merely,  by  my  father,  who  stood  well  with 
his  landlord  otherwise,  and  had  perfect  trust  in  him.  But  when  it 
came  to  practical  settlement,  to  'demands  of  outgoing  tenant,' who 
was  completely  right  as  against  his  landlord,  and  completely  wrong 
as  against  us,  there  arose  difficulties  which,  the  farther  they  were 
gone  into,  spread  the  wider.  Arbitration  was  tried;  much  was  tried ; 
nothing  would  do.  Arbitrators,  little  farmers  on  the  neighboring 
estates,  would  not  give  a  verdict,  but  only  talk,  talk.  Honorable 
landlord  owes  out-going  tenant  (his  and  his  father's  old  factor)  say 
1.501. ,  and  other  just  decision  there  was  none.  Factor  was  foolish, 
superannuated,  impoverished,  pressingly  in  want  of  his  money.  Land- 
lord was  not  wise  or  liberal.  Arbitrary  and  imperious  he  tried  to 
be;  wrote  letters,  etc.,  but  got  stiff  answers;  over  the  belly  of  justice 
would  not  be  permitted  to  ride.  The  end  was,  after  much  babbling, 
in  which  I  meddled  little,  and  only  from  the  background,2  complete 
break  ensued;  Hoddam  Hill  to  be  given  up,  laid  at  his  honor's  feet 
May  26, 1826 ;  ditto  Mainhill  when  the  lease  also  expired  there.  My 
father  got,  on  another  estate  near  by,  the  farm  of  Scotsbrig,  a  far 
better  farm  (where  our  people  still  are),  farm  well  capable  both  of 
his  stock  and  ours,  with  roomy  house,  etc.,  where,  if  anywhere  in 
the  country,  I,  from  and  after  May,  1826,  must  make  up  my  mind  to 
live.  To  stay  there  till  German  Romance  was  done — clear  as  to 

i  First  battle  won  in  the  Rue  de  1'Enfer— Loith  Walk— four  years  before.  Campaign 
not  ended  till  now. 

4  Not  altogether.  In  a  letter  from  Hoddam  Hill,  Carlyle  says:  "My  kindred  can 
now  regard  the  ill-nature  of  our  rural  All  Pacha  with  a  degree  of  equanimity  much 
easier  to  attain  than  formerly.  Ali — I  mean  his  honor  General  Sharpe — and  I  had 
such  a  schane  the  other  day  at  this  door.  I  made  Graham  of  Burnswark  laugh  at  it 
yesterday  all  the  way  from  Annan  to  Hoddam  Bridge.  In  short,  Ali  sunk,  in  the  space 
of  little  more  than  a  minute,  from  212°  of  Fahrenheit's  thermometer  to  32°,  and  re- 
tired even  below  the  freezing-point." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  193 

that — went  accordingly,  and  after  a  week  of  joinering  resumed  my 
stint  of  ten  daily  pages,  steady  as  the  town  clock,  no  interruption 
dreaded  or  occurring.  Had  a  pleasant,  diligent,  and  interesting 
summer;  all  my  loved  kindred  about  me  for  the  last  time;  hottest 
and  droughtiest  summer  I  have  ever  seen,  drier  even  than  the  last 
(of  1868),  though  seldom  quite  so  intolerably  hot.  No  rain  from  the 
end  of  March  till  the  middle  of  August.  l)elightful  morning  rides 
(in  the  first  months)  are  still  present  to  me,  ditto  breakfasts  in  the 
kitchen,  an  antique  baronial  one,  roomy,  airy,  curious  to  me.  Cook- 
ery, company,  and  the  cow  with  her  produce  always  friendly  to  me. 
Nothing  to  complain  of  but  want  of  the  old  silence ;  noise  and  bustle 
of  business  now  round  me,  and  like  to  increase,  not  diminish;  and 
this  thought  always  too,  here  cannot  be  thy  continuing  city  !  and 
then  withal,  my  darling  in  noble  silence  getting  so  weary  of  dull 
Haddington.  In  brief,  after  much  survey  and  consideration  of  the 
real  interests  and  real  feelings  of  both  parties,  I  proposed,  and  it  was 
gently  acceded  to,  that  German  Romance  once  done  (end  of  Septem- 
ber or  so)  we  should  wed,  settle  at  Edinburgh  in  some  small  subur- 
ban house  (details  and  preparations  there  all  left  to  her  kind  mother 
and  her),  and  thenceforth  front  our  chances  in  the  world,  not  as  two 
lots,  but  as  one,  for  better  for  worse,  till  death  us  part ! 

"In  August  Haddington  became  aware  of  what  was  toward,  a 
great  enough  event  there,  the  loss  of  its  loved  and  admired  '  Jeannie 
Welsh,  the  Flower  o'  Haddington'  (as  poor  old  Lizzy  Baldy,  a  no- 
table veteran  sewing-woman,  humble  heroine,  then  sadly  said),  '  gaun 
to  be  here  na  mair  !'  In  Annandale,  such  my  entire  seclusion,  noth- 
ing was  yet  heard  of  it  for  a  couple  of  months.  House  in  Comely 
Bank 1  suitable  as  possible  had  been  chosen  ;  was  being  furnished 
from  Haddington,  beautifully,  perfectly,  and  even  richly,  by  Mrs. 
Welsh's  great  skill  in  such  matters,  aided  by  her  daughter's,  which 
was  also  great,  and  by  the  frank  wordless  generosity  of  both,  which 
surely  was  very  great !  Mrs.  Welsh  had  decided  to  give  up  house, 
quit  Haddington,  and  privately  even  never  see  it  more  ;  to  live  at 
Templand  thenceforth  with  her  father  and  sister  (Aunt  Grizzie), 
where  it  was  well  judged  her  help  might  be  useful.  My  brave  little 
woman  had  by  deed  of  law  two  years  before  settled  her  little  estate 
(Craigenputtock)  upon  her  mother  for  life,  being  clearly  indispen- 
sable there.  Fee  simple  of  the  place  she  had  at  the  same  time  by 
will  bequeathed  to  me  if  I  survived  her." 

So  Carlyle,  at  a  distance  of  forty-two  years,  describes  the  prelude 
to  his  marriage — accurately  so  far  as  substance  went,  and  with  a 
frank  acknowledgment  of  Mrs.  Welsh's  liberality,  as  the  impression 
was  left  upon  his  memory.  But,  exactly  and  circumstantially  as  he 
remembered  things  which  had  struck  and  interested  him,  his  mem- 
ory was  less  tenacious  of  some  particulars  which  he  passed  over  at 
the  time  with  less  attention  than  perhaps  they  deserved,  and  thus 
allowed  to  drop  out  of  his  recollection.  Details  have  to  be  told 

i  A  row  of  houses  to  the  north  of  Edinburgh,  then  among  open  fields  between  the 
city  and  the  sea. 


194  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

which  will  show  him  not  on  the  most  considerate  side.  They  re- 
quire to  be  mentioned  for  the  distinct  light  which  they  throw  on  as- 
pects of  his  character  which  affected  materially  his  wife's  happiness. 
There  were  some  things  which  Carlyle  was  constitutionally  incapable 
of  apprehending,  while  again  there  are  others  which  he  apprehended 
perhaps  with  essential  correctness,  but  on  which  men  in  general  do 
not  think  as  he  thought.  A  man  born  to  great  place  and  great  visi- 
ble responsibilities  in  the  world  is  allowed  to  consider  first  his  posi- 
tion and  his  duties,  and  to  regard  other  claims  upon  him  as  subordi- 
nate to  these.  A  man  born  with  extraordinary  talents,  which  he  has 
resolved  to  use  for  some  great  and  generous  purpose,  may  expect  and 
demand  the  same  privileges,  but  they  are  not  so  easily  accorded  to 
him.  In  the  one  instance  it  is  assumed  as  a  matter  of  course  that  sec- 
ondary interests  must  be  set  aside;  even  in  marriage  the  heir  of  a 
large  estate  consults  the  advantage  of  his  family;  his  wife's  pleasure, 
even  his  wife's  comforts,  must  be  postponed  to  the  supposed  demands 
of  her  husband's  situation.  The  claims  of  a  man  of  genius  are  lesa 
tolerantly  dealt  with ;  partly  perhaps  because  it  is  held  an  impertinence 
in  any  man  to  pretend  to  genius  till  he  has  given  proof  of  possessing 
it;  partly  because,  if  extraordinary  gifts  are  rare,  the  power  of  ap- 
preciating them  is  equally  rare,  and  a  fixed  purpose  to  make  a  noble 
use  of  them  is  rarer  still.  Men  of  literary  faculty,  it  is  idly  supposed, 
can  do  their  work  anywhere  in  any  circumstances;  if  the  work  is 
left  undone  the  world  does  not  know  what  it  has  lost ;  and  thus, 
partly  by  their  own  fault,  and  partly  by  the  world's  mode  of  dealing 
with  them,  the  biographies  of  men  of  letters  are,  as  Carlyle  says,  for 
the  most  part  the  saddest  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  human  race 
except  the  Newgate  Calendar. 

Carlyle,  restless  and  feverish,  was  convinced  that  no  real  work 
could  be  got  out  of  him  till  he  was  again  in  a  home  of  his  own,  and 
till  his  affairs  were  settled  on  some  permanent  footing.  His  engage- 
ment, while  it  remained  uncompleted,  kept  him  anxious  and  irri- 
tated. Therefore  he  conceived  that  he  must  find  some  cottage  suit- 
ed to  his  circumstances,  and  that  Miss  Welsh  ought  to  become  im- 
mediately the  mistress  of  it.  He  had  money  enough  to  begin  house- 
keeping; he  saw  his  way,  he  thought,  to  earning  money  enough  to 
continue  it  on  the  scale  on  which  he  had  himself  been  bred  up — but 
it  was  on  condition  that  the  wife  that  he  took  to  himself  should  do 
the  work  of  a  domestic  servant  as  his  own  mother  and  sisters  did; 
and  he  was  never  able  to  understand  that  a  lady  differently  educated 
might  herself,  or  her  friends  for  her,  find  a  difficulty  in  accepting  such 
a  situation.  He  was  in  love,  so  far  as  he  understood  what  love 
meant.  Like  Hamlet,  he  would  have  challenged  Miss  Welsh's  other 
lovers  "  to  weep,  to  fight,  to  fast,  to  tear  themselves,  to  drink  up  Esil, 
eat  a  crocodile,"  or  "be  buried  with  her  quick  in  the  earth;"  but 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  195 

when  it  came  to  the  question  how  he  was  himself  to  do  the  work 
which  he  intended  to  do,  he  chose  to  go  his  own  way,  and  expected 
others  to  accommodate  themselves  to  it. 

Plans  had  been  suggested  and  efforts  made  to  secure  some  perma- 
nent situation  for  him.  A  newspaper  had  been  projected  in  Edin- 
burgh, which  Lockhart  and  Brewster  were  to  have  conducted  with 
Carlyle  under  them.  This  would  have  been  something;  but  Lock- 
hart  became  editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  and  the  project  dropped. 
A  Bavarian  Minister  had  applied  to  Professor  Leslie  for  some  one 
who  could  teach  English  literature  and  science  at  Munich.  Leslie 
offered  this  to  Carlyle,  but  he  declined  it.  He  had  set  his  mind  upon 
a  cottage  outside  Edinburgh,  with  a  garden  and  high  walls  about  it 
to  shut  out  noise.  This  was  all  which  he  himself  wanted.  He  did 
not  care  how  poor  it  was  so  it  was  his  own,  entirely  his  own,  safe 
from  intruding  fools. 

Here  he  thought  that  he  and  his  wife  might  set  themselves  up  to- 
gether and  wish  for  nothing  more.  It  did,  indeed,  at  moments  oc- 
cur to  him  that,  although  he  could  be  happy  and  rich  in  the  midst 
of  poverty,  "for  a  woman  to  descend  from  superfluity  to  live  in  pov- 
erty with  a  sick,  ill-natured  man,  and  not  be  wretched,  would  be 
a  miracle."  But  though  the  thought  came  more  than  once,  it  would 
not  abide.  The  miracle  would  perhaps  be  wrought ;  or  indeed  with- 
out a  miracle  his  mother  and  sisters  were  happy,  and  why  should 
any  one  wish  for  more  luxuries  than  they  had  ? 

Mrs.  Welsh  being  left  a  widow,  and  with  no  other  child,  the  pain 
of  separation  from  her  daughter  was  unusually  great.  Notwith- 
standing a  certain  number  of  caprices,  there  was  a  genuine  and  even 
passionate  attachment  between  mother  and  daughter.  It  might 
have  seemed  that  a  separation  was  unnecessary,  and  that  if  Mrs. 
Welsh  could  endure  to  have  Carlyle  under  her  own  roof,  no  difficul- 
ty on  his  side  ought  to  have  arisen.  Mrs.  Welsh  indeed,  romantical- 
ly generous,  desired  to  restore  the  property,  and  to  go  back  and  live 
with  her  father  at  Templand ;  but  her  daughter  decided  perempto- 
rily that  she  would  rather  live  with  Carlyle  in  poverty  all  the  days  of 
her  life  sooner  than  encroach  in  the  smallest  degree  on  her  mother's 
independence.  She  could  expect  no  happiness,  she  said,  if  she  failed 
in  the  first  duty  of  her  life.  Her  mother  should  keep  the  fortune, 
or  else  Miss  Welsh  refused  to  leave  her. 

All  difficulties  might  be  got  over,  the  entire  economic  problem 
might  be  solved,  if  the  family  could  be  kept  together.  As  soon  as 
the  marriage  was  known  to  be  in  contemplation  this  arrangement 
occurred  to  every  one  who  was  interested  in  the  Welshes'  welfare  as 
the  most  obviously  desirable.  Mrs.  Welsh  was  as  unhappy  as  ever 
at  an  alliance  that  she  regarded  as  not  imprudent  only,  but  in  the 
highest  degree  objectionable.  Carlyle  had  neither  family  nor  fortune 


196  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

nor  prospect  of  preferment.  He  had  no  religion  that  she  could  com- 
prehend, and  she  had  seen  him  violent  and  unreasonable.  He  was 
the  very  last  companion  that  she  would  have  selected  for  herself. 
Yet  for  her  daughter's  sake  she  was  willing  to  make  an  effort  to  like 
him,  and,  since  the  marriage  was  to  be,  either  to  live  with  him  or  to 
accept  him  as  her  son-in-law  in  her  own  house  and  in  her  own  circle. 

Her  consent  to  take  Carlyle  into  her  family  removed  Miss  Welsh's 
remaining  scruples,  and  made  her  perfectly  happy.  It  never  occur- 
red to  her  that  Carlyle  himself  would  refuse,  and  the  reasons  which 
he  alleged  might  have  made  a  less  resolute  woman  pause  before  she 
committed  herself  farther.  It  would  never  answer,  he  said  ;  "two 
households  could  not  live  as  if  they  were  one,  and  he  would  never 
have  any  right  enjoyment  of  his  wife's  company  till  she  was  all  his 
own."  Mrs.  Welsh  had  a  large  acquaintance.  He  liked  none  of 
them,  and  "her  visitors  would  neither  be  diminished  in  numbers  nor 
bettered  in  quality. "  No !  he  must  have  the  small  house  in  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  "the  moment  he  was  master  of  a  house,  the  first  use  he 
would  turn  it  to  would  be  to  slam  the  door  against  nauseous  intrud- 
ers." It  never  occurred  to  him,  as  proved  too  fatally  to  be  the  case, 
that  he  would  care  little  for  "the  right  companionship"  when  he 
had  got  it ;  that  he  would  be  absorbed  in  his  work  ;  that,  after  all, 
his  wife  would  see  but  little  of  him,  and  that  little  too  often  under  try- 
ing conditions  of  temper  ;  that  her  mother's  companionship,  and  the 
"intrusion"  of  her  mother's  old  friends,  might  add  more  to  her 
comfort  than  it  could  possibly  detract  from  his  own. 

However  deeply  she  honored  her  chosen  husband,  she  could  not 
hide  from  herself  that  he  was  selfish — extremely  selfish.  He  had 
changed  his  mind  indeed  about  the  Edinburgh  house  almost  as  soon 
as  he  had  made  it  up — he  was  only  determined  that  he  would  not 
live  with  Mrs.  Welsh. 

"  Surely  [Miss  Welsh  wrote]  you  are  the  most  tantalizing  man  in 
the  world,  and  I  the  most  tractable  woman.  This  time  twelvemonth 
nothing  would  content  you  but  to  live  in  the  country,  and  though 
a  country  life  never  before  attracted  my  desires,  it  nevertheless  be- 
came my  choice  the  instant  it  seemed  to  be  yours.  In  truth,  I  dis- 
covered a  hundred  beauties  and  properties  in  it  which  had  hitherto 
escaped  my  notice ;  and  it  came  at  last  to  this,  that  every  imagina- 
tion of  the  thoughts  of  my  heart  was  love  in  a  cottage  continually. 
Eh  bien!  and  what  then?  A  change  comes  over  the  spirit  of  your 
dream.  While  the  birds  are  yet  humming,  the  roses  blooming,  the 
small  birds  rejoicing,  and  everything  is  in  summer  glory  about  our 
ideal  cottage,  I  am  called  away  to  live  in  prospectu  in  the  smoke 
and  bustle  and  icy  coldness  of  Edinburgh.  Now  this  I  call  a  trial 
of  patience  and  obedience — and  say,  could  I  have  complied  more 
readily  though  I  had  been  your  wedded  wife  ten  times  over?  With- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  without  once  looking  behind,  without 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  197 

even  bidding  adieu  to  my  flowers,  I  took  my  way  with  you  out  of 
our  Paradise,  to  raise  another  in  the  howling  wilderness.  A  very 
miracle  of  love !  Oh  mind  of  man !  And  this  too  must  pass  away. 
Houses  and  walled  gardens  pass  away  like  the  baseless  fabric  of 
a  vision;  and  lo!  we  are  once  more  a  solitary  pair,  'the  world  all 
before  us  where  to  choose  our  place  of  rest.'  Be  Providence  our 
guide.  Suppose  we  take  different  roads  and  try  how  that  answers  ? 

There  is ,  with  50,000£.  and  a  princely  lineage,  and  'never  was 

out  of  humor  in  her  life ' — with  such  a  '  singularly  pleasing  creat- 
ure '  you  could  hardly  fail  to  find  yourself  admirably  well  off — while 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  might  better  my  fortune  in  many  quarters.  A 
certain  handsome  stammering  Englishman  I  know  of  would  give 
his  ears  to  carry  me  away  south  with  him.  My  second  cousin,  too, 
the  doctor  at  Leeds,  has  set  up  a  fine  establishment,  and  writes  to 
me  that  '  I  am  the  very  first  of  my  sex.'  Or,  nearer  home,  I  have 
an  interesting  young  widower  in  view,  who  has  no  scruple  in  mak- 
ing me  mother  to  his  three  small  children,  blue-stocking  though  I 
be.  But  what  am  I  talking  about?  as  if  we  were  not  already  mar- 
ried, married  past  redemption.  God  knows  in  that  case  what  is  to 
become  of  us.  At  times  I  am  so  disheartened  that  I  sit  down  and 
weep." 

Carlyle  could  just  perceive  that  he  had  not  been  gracious,  that 
Mrs.  Welsh's  offer  had  deserved  "more  serious  consideration,"  and 
at  least  a  more  courteous  refusal.  He  could  recognize  also,  proud 
as  he  was,  that  he  had  little  to  offer  in  his  companionship  which 
would  be  a  compensation  for  the  trials  which  it  might  bring  with 
it.  He  again  offered  to  set  the  lady  free. 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"  Oh,  Jane,  Jane,  your  half -jesting  enumeration  of  your  wooers 
does  anything  but  make  me  laugh.  A  thousand  and  a  thousand 
times  I  have  thought  the  same  thing  in  deepest  earnest.  That  you 
have  the  power  of  making  many  good  matches  is  no  secret  to  me ; 
nay,  it  would  be  a  piece  of  news  for  me  to  learn  that  I  am  not  the 
very  worst  you  ever  thought  of.  And  you  add,  with  the  same  tear- 
ful smile,  '  Alas !  we  are  married  already. '  Let  me  cut  off  the  inter- 
jection, and  say  simply  what  is  true,  that  we  are  not  married  al- 
ready ;  and  do  you  hereby  receive  further  my  distinct  and  deliberate 
declaration  that  it  depends  on  yourself,  and  shall  always  depend  on 
yourself,  whether  ever  we  be  married  or  not.  God  knows  I  do  not 
say  this  in  a  vulgar  spirit  of  defiance,  which  in  our  present  relation 
were  coarse  and  cruel ;  but  I  say  it  in  the  spirit  of  disinterested  af- 
fection for  you,  and  of  fear  from  the  reproaches  of  my  own  con 
science,  should  your  fair  destiny  be  marred  by  me,  and  you  wound- 
ed in  the  house  of  your  friend.  Can  you  believe  it  with  the  good- 
nature which  I  declare  it  deserves  ?  It  would  absolutely  give  me 
satisfaction  to  know  that  you  thought  yourself  entirely  free  of  all 
ties  to  me  but  those,  such  as  they  might  be,  of  your  own  still  renew- 
ed election.  It  is  reasonable  and  right  that  you  should  be  concerned 
for  your  future  establishment.  Look  round  with  calm  eyes  on  the 


198  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

persons  you  mention,  and  if  there  is  any  one  among  them  whose 
wife  you  had  rather  be — I  do  not  mean  whom  you  love  better  than 
me,  but  whose  wife,  all  things  considered,  you  had  rather  be  than 
mine  —  then  I  call  upon  you,  I,  your  brother  and  friend  through 
every  fortune,  to  accept  that  man  and  leave  me  to  my  destiny.  But 
if,  on  the  contrary,  my  heart  and  my  hand,  with  the  barren  and  per- 
plexed destiny  which  promises  to  attend  them,  shall  after  all  appear 
the  best  that  this  poor  world  can  offer  you,  then  take  me  and  be  con- 
tent with  me,  and  do  not  vex  yourself  with  struggling  to  alter  what 
is  unalterable — to  make  a  man  who  is  poor  and  sick  suddenly  become 
rich  and  healthy.  You  tell  me  you  often  weep  when  you  think  what 
is  to  become  of  us.  It  is  unwise  in  you  to  weep.  If  you  are  recon- 
ciled to  be  my  wife  (not  the  wife  of  an  ideal  me,  but  the  simple  act- 
ual prosaic  me),  there  is  nothing  frightful  in  the  future.  /  look  into 
it  with  more  and  more  confidence  and  composure.  Alas !  Jane,  you 
do  not  know  me.  It  is  not  the  poor  unknown  rejected  Thomas  C'ar- 
lyle  that  you  know,  but  the  prospective  rich,  known,  and  admired. 
I  am  reconciled  to  my  fate  as  it  stands,  or  promises  to  stand  erelong. 
I  have  pronounced  the  word  unpraised  in  all  its  cases  and  numbers, 
and  find  nothing  terrific  in  it,  even  when  it  means  unmoneyed,  and 
even  by  the  mass  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  neglected  or  even  partial- 
ly contemned.  I  thank  Heaven  I  have  other  objects  in  my  eye  than 
either  their  pudding  or  their  breath.  This  comes  of  the  circumstance 
that  my  apprenticeship  is  ending,  and  yours  still  going  on.  Oh  Jane, 
I  could  weep  too,  for  I  love  you  in  my  deepest  heart. 

' '  These  are  hard  sayings,  my  beloved  child,  but  I  cannot  spare 
them,  and  I  hope,  though  bitter  at  first,  they  may  not  remain  with- 
out wholesome  influence.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me.  Do  not.  I 
swear  I  deserve  it  not.  Consider  this  as  a  tme  glimpse  into  my 
heart  which  it  is  good  that  you  contemplate  with  the  gentleness  and 
tolerance  you  have  often  shown  me.  If  you  judge  it  fit,  I  will  take 
you  to  my  heart  as  my  wedded  wife  this  very  week.  If  you  judge 
it  fit,  I  will  this  very  week  forswear  you  forever.  More  I  cannot  do ; 
but  all  this,  when  I  compare  myself  with  you,  it  is  my  duty  to  do. 
Adieu.  God  bless  you  and  have  you  in  his  keeping ! 

"I  am  yours  at  your  own  disposal  for  ever  and  ever, 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

That  Carlyle  could  contemplate  with  equanimity  being  unpraised, 
unmoneyed,  and  neglected  all  his  life,  that  he  required  neither  the 
world's  pudding  nor  its  breath,  and  could  be  happy  without  them, 
was  pardonable  and  perhaps  commendable.  That  he  should  expect 
another  person  to  share  this  unmoneyed,  puddingless,  and  rather  for- 
lorn condition,  was  scarcely  consistent  with  such  lofty  principles. 
Men  may  sacrifice  themselves,  if  they  please,  to  imagined  high  du- 
ties and  ambitions,  but  they  have  no  right  to  marry  wives  and  sac- 
rifice them.  Nor  were  these  ' '  hard  sayings  %which  could  not  be 
spared  "  exactly  to  the  point,  when  he  had  been  roughly  and  dis- 
courteously rejecting  proposals  which  would  have  made  his  un- 
inoneyed  situation  of  less  importance. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  199 

He  had  said  that  Miss  Welsh  did  not  know  him,  which  was  prob- 
ably true ;  but  it  is  likely  also  that  he  did  not  know  himself.  She 
had  answered  this  last  letter  of  his  with  telling  him  that  she  had 
chosen  him  for  her  husband,  and  should  not  alter  her  mind.  Since 
this  was  so  he  immediately  said,  "she  had  better  wed  her  wild  man 
of  the  woods  at  once,  and  come  and  live  with  him  in  his  cavern  in 
the  hope  of  better  days."  The  cavern  was  Scotsbrig.  When  it  had 
been  proposed  that  he  should  live  with  Mrs.  Welsh  at  Haddington, 
he  would  by  consenting  have  spared  the  separation  of  a  mother  from 
an  only  child,  and  would  not  perhaps  have  hurt  his  own  intellect  by 
an  effort  of  self-denial.  It  appeared  impossible  to  him,  when  Mrs. 
Welsh  was  in  question,  that  two  households  could  go  on  together. 
He  was  positive  that  he  must  be  master  in  his  own  house,  free  from 
noise  and  interruption,  and  have  fire  and  brimstone  cooked  for  him 
if  he  pleased  to  order  it.  But  the  two  hoxiseholds  were  not,  it  seem- 
ed, incompatible  when  one  of  them  was  his  own  "family.  If  Miss 
Welsh  would  come  to  him  at  Scotsbrig,  "  he  would  be  a  new  man ;" 
"the  bitterness  of  life  would  pass  away  like  a  forgotten  tempest," 
and  he  and  she  ' '  would  walk  in  bright  weather  thenceforward  "  to 
the  end  of  their  existence.  This,  too,  was  a  mere  delusion.  The 
cause  of  his  unrest  was  in  himself;  he  would  carry  with  him,  wher- 
ever he  might  go  or  be,  the  wild  passionate  spirit,  fevered  with  burn- 
ing thoughts,  which  would  make  peace  impossible,  and  cloud  the 
fairest  weather  with  intermittent  tempests.  Scotsbrig  would  not 
have  frightened  Miss  Welsh.  She  must  have  perceived  his  incon- 
sistency, though  she  did  not  allude  to  it.  But  if  Carlyle  had  him- 
self and  his  work  to  consider,  she  had  her  mother.  Her  answer  was 
very  beautiful : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  Were  happiness  the  thing  chiefly  to  be  cared  for  in  this  world, 
I  would  put  my  hand  in  yours  now,  as  you  say,  and  so  cut  the  knot 
of  our  destiny.  But  oh !  have  you  not  told  me  a  thousand  times, 
and  my  conscience  tells  me  also,  that  happiness  is  a  secondary  con- 
sideration ?  It  must  not,  must  not,  be  sought  out  of  the  path  of 
duty.  Should  I  do  well  to  go  into  Paradise  myself,  and  leave  the 
mother  who  bore  me  to  break  her  heart  ?  She  is  looking  forward 
to  my  marriage  with  a  more  tranquil  mind  in  the  hope  that  our 
separation  is  to  be  but  nominal — that,  by  living  where  my  husband 
lives,  she  may  at  least  have  every  moment  of  my  society  which  he 
can  spare.  And  how  would  it  be  possible  not  to  disappoint  her  of 
this  hope  if  I  went  to  reside  with  your  people  in  Annandale  ?  Her 
presence  there  would  be  a  perpetual  cloud.  For  the  sake  of  all  con- 
cerned, it  would  be  necessary  to  keep  her  quite  apart  from  us,  yet 
so  near.1  She  would  be  the  most  wretched  of  mothers,  the  most 

>  Templand,  where  Mrs.  Welsh  was  to  live  if  she  returned  to  her  father,  was  about 
fifteen  miles  from  Ecclefechan. 


200  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLTLE. 

desolate  woman  in  the  world.  Oh  !  is  it  for  me  to  make  her  so  ? 
me  who  am  so  unspeakably  dear  to  her  in  spite  of  all  her  caprice, 
who  am  her  only,  only  child,  and  she  a  widow  ?  I  love  you,  Mr. 
Carlyle,  tenderly,  devotedly.  But  I  may  not  put  my  mother  away 
from  me,  even  for  your  sake.  I  cannot  do  it.  I  have  lain  awake 
whole  nights  trying  to  reconcile  this  act  with  my  conscience.  But 
my  conscience  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  it — rejects  it  with  in- 
dignation. 

"What  is  to  be  done,  then  ?  Indeed,  I  see  only  one  way  to  es- 
cape out  of  all  these  perplexities.  Be  patient  with  me  while  I  tell 
you  what  it  is.  My  mother,  like  myself,  has  ceased  to  feel  any  con- 
tentment in  this  hateful  Haddington,  and  is  bent  on  disposing  of  our 
house  here  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  hiring  one  elsewhere.  Why  should 
it  not  be  the  vicinity  of  Edinburgh  after  all  ?  and  why  should  not 
you  live  with  your  wife  in  your  mother's  house  ?  Because,  you  say, 
my  mother  would  never  have  the  grace  to  like  you,  or  let  you  live 
with  her  in  peace;  because  you  could  never  have  any  right  enjoy- 
ment of  my  society,  so  long  as  you  had  me  not  all  to  yourself;  and 
finally  because  you  must  and  will  '  have  a  door  of  your  own  to  slam 
in  the  face  of  all  nauseous  intruders.'  These  are  objections  which 
sound  fatal  to  my  scheme;  but  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if  they  are  not 
more  sound  than  substance.  My  mother  would  like  you,  assuredly 
she  would,  if  you  came  to  live  with  her  as  her  son.  Her  terror  is 
lest,  through  your  means,  she  should  be  made  childless,  and  a  weak 
imagination  that  you  regard  her  with  disrespect — both  which  rocks 
of  offence  would  be  removed  by  this  one  concession.  Besides,  as  my 
wedded  husband,  you  would  appear  to  her  in  a  new  light.  Her  ma- 
ternal affection,  of  which  there  is  abundance  at  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  would  of  necessity  extend  itself  to  him  with  whom  I  was  be- 
come inseparably  connected;  and  mere  common-sense  would  pre- 
scribe a  kind  motherly  behavior  as  the  only  expedient  to  make  the 
best  of  what  could  no  longer  be  helped." 

The  arrangement  was  at  least  as  reasonable  as  that  which  he  had 
himself  proposed,  and  Carlyle,  who  was  so  passionately  attached  to 
his  own  mother,  might  have  been  expected  to  esteem  and  sympathize 
with  Miss  Welsh's  affection  for  hers.  At  Scotsbrig  he  would  have 
had  no  door  of  his  own  "to  slam  against  nauseous  intruders;"  his 
father,  as  long  as  he  lived,  would  be  master  in  his  own  house;  while 
the  self-control  which  would  have  been  required  of  him,  had  he  re- 
sided with  Mrs.  Welsh  as  a  son-in-law,  would  have  been  a  discipline 
which  his  own  character  especially  needed.  But  he  knew  that  he 
was  "gey  ill  to  live  wi'."  His  own  family  were  used  to  him,  and  he 
in  turn  respected  them,  and  could,  within  limits,  conform  to  their 
ways.  From  others  he  would  submit  to  no  interference.  He  knew 
that  he  would  not,  and  that  it  would  be  useless  for  him  to  try.  He 
felt  that  he  had  not  considered  Mrs.  Welsh  as  he  ought  to  have  done ; 
but  his  consideration,  even  after  he  had  recognized  his  fault,  remain- 
ed a  most  restricted  quantity. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  201 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"April  2, 1826. 

"As  we  think  mostly  of  our  own  wants  and  wishes  alone  in  this  roy- 
al project,  I  had  taken  no  distinct  account  of  your  mother.  I  merely 
remembered  the  text  of  Scripture,  '  Thou  shall  leave  thy  father  and 
mother  and  cleave  unto  thy  husband,  and  thy  desire  shall  be  towards 
him  all  the  days  of  thy  life.'  I  imagined  perhaps  she  might  go  to 
Dumfriesshire  and  gratify  her  heart  by  increasing  the  accommoda- 
tions of  her  father,  which  she  would  then  have  ample  means  to  do; 
perhaps  that  she  might  even — '  in  short,  that  she  might  arrange 
her  destiny  in  many  ways  in  which  my  presence  must  be  a  hinderance 
rather  than  a  furtherance.  Here  I  was  selfish  and  thoughtless.  I 
might  have  known  that  the  love  of  a  mother  to  her  only  child  is  in- 
destructible and  irreplacable ;  that  forcibly  to  cut  asunder  such  was 
cruel  and  unjust. 

"Perhaps,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  may  not  yet  have  got  to  the  bot- 
tom of  this  new  plan  so  completely  as  I  wished;  but  there  is  one 
thing  that  strikes  me  more  and  more  the  longer  I  think  of  it — this, 
the  grand  objection  of  all  objections,  the  head  and  front  of  offence, 
the  soul  of  all  my  counterpleading — an  objection  which  is  too  likely 
to  overset  the  whole  project.  It  may  be  stated  hi  a  word :  '  The  man 
should  bear  t'ule  in  the  house,  and  not  the  woman.'  This  is  an  eternal 
axiom,  the  law  of  nature,  which  no  mortal  departs  from  unpunish- 
ed. I  have  meditated  on  this  many  years,  and  every  day  it  grows 
plainer  to  me.  I  must  not,  and  I  cannot,  live  in  a  house  of  which  I 
am  not  head.  I  should  be  miserable  myself,  and  make  all  about  me 
miserable.  Think  not  this  comes  of  an  imperious  temper,  that  I 
shall  be  a  harsh  and  tyrannical  husband  to  thee.  God  forbid  !  But 
it  is  the  nature  of  a  man,  if  he  is  controlled  by  anything  but  his  own 
reason,  that  he  feels  himself  degraded  and  incited,  be  it  justly  or  not, 
to  rebellion  and  discord.  It  is  the  nature  of  a  woman  again  (for  she 
is  entirely  passive,  not  active)  to  cling  to  the  man  for  support  and 
direction,  to  comply  with  his  humors  and  feel  pleasure  in  doing  so, 
simply  because  they  are  his,  to  reverence  while  she  loves  him,  to 
conquer  him  not  by  her  force,  but  by  her  weakness,  and  perhaps,  the 
cunning  gypsy,  to  command  him  by  obeying  him.  .  .  .  Your  moth- 
er is  of  all  women  the  best  calculated  for  being  a  wife,  and  the  worst 
for  being  a  husband.  I  know  her,  perhaps  better  than  she  thinks ;  and 
it  is  not  without  affection  and  sincere  esteem  that  I  have  seen  the 
fundamental  structure  of  her  character,  and  the  many  light  capri- 
cious half  graces,  half  follies,  that  sport  on  the  surface  of  it.  I  could 
even  fancy  that  she  might  love  me  also  and  feel  happy  beside  me,  if 
her  own  true  and  kindly  character  were  to  come  into  fair  and  free 
communion  with  mine,  which  she  might  then  find  was  neither  false 
nor  cruel  any  more  than  her  own.  I5ut  this  could  only  be  (I  will 
speak  it  out  at  once  and  boldly,  for  it  is  the  quiet  and  kind  convic- 
tion of  my  Judgment,  not  the  conceited  and  selfish  conviction  of  my 
vanity) — this  could  only  be  in  a  situation  where  she  looked  up  to 
me,  not  I  to  her. 

1  He  probably  was  going  to  say  "marry  again,"  but  checked  himself. 


202  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Now  think,  Liebchen,  whether  your  mother  will  consent  to  for- 
get her  own  riches  and  my  poverty  and  uncertain,  more  probably 
my  scanty,  income,  and  consent,  in  the  spirit  of  Christian  meekness, 
to  make  me  her  guardian  and  director,  and  be  a  second  wife  to  her 
daughter's  husband.  If  she  can,  then  I  say  she  is  a  noble  woman, 
and  in  the  name  of  truth  and  affection  let  us  all  live  together  and  be 
one  household  and  one  heart,  till  death  or  her  own  choice  part  us. 
If  she  cannot,  which  will  do  anything  but  surprise  me,  then  also  the 
other  thing  cannot  be,  must  not/  be;  and  for  her  sake  no  less  than 
for  yours  and  mine  we  must  think  of  something  else." 

The  Greek  chorus  would  have  shaken  its  head  ominously,  and  ut- 
tered its  musical  cautions,  over  the  temper  displayed  in  this  letter. 
Yet  it  is  perfectly  true  that  Carlyle  would  have  been  an  unbearable 
inmate  of  any  house,  except  his  father's,  where  his  will  was  not  ab- 
solute. "Gey  ill  to  live  wi',"  as  his  mother-said.  The  condition 
which  he  made  was  perhaps  not  so  much  as  communicated  to  Mrs. 
Welsh,  for  whom  it  would  have  furnished  another  text  for  a  warn- 
ing sermon.  The  "judicious  desperation"  which  Carlyle  recom- 
mended to  her  daughter  brought  her  to  submit  to  going  to  live  at 
Scotsbrig.  Under  the  circumstances  Mrs.  Welsh,  in  desperation  too, 
decided  that  the  marriage  should  be  celebrated  immediately  and  an 
end  made.  She  comforted  herself  with  the  thought  that  being  at 
Templand  with  her  father,  she  would  at  least  be  within  reach,  and 
could  visit  Scotsbrig  as  often  as  she  pleased.  Here,  however,  new" 
difficulties  nrose.  Carlyle,  it  seems,  had  made  the  proposition  with- 
out so  much  as  consulting  his  father  and  mother.  They  at  least,  if 
not  he,  were  sensible,  when  they  heard  of  it,  of  the  unfitness  of  their 
household  to  receive  a  lady  brought  up  as  Miss  Welsh  had  been. 
"Even  in  summer,"  they  said,  "it  would  be  difficult  for  her  to  live 
at  Scotsbrig,  and  in  winter  impossible;"  while  the  notion  that  Mrs. 
Welsh  should  ever  be  a  visitor  there  seemed  as  impossible  to  Carlyle 
himself.  He  had  deliberately  intended  to  bring  his  wife  into  a 
circle  where  the  suggestion  of  her  mother's  appearance  was  too 
extravagant  to  be  entertained. 

"You  have  misconceived  [he  said]  the  condition  of  Scotsbrig  and 
our  only  possible  means  of  existence  there.  You  talk  of  your  moth- 
er visiting  us.  By  day  and  night  it  would  astonish  her  to  see  this 
household.  Oh,  no.  Your  mother  must  not  visit  mine.  What 
good  were  it?  By  an  utmost  exertion  on  the  part  of  both  they 
might  learn,  perhaps,  to  tolerate  each  other,  more  probably  to  pity 
and  partially  dislike  each  other.  Better  than  mutual  tolerance  I . 
could  anticipate  nothing  from  them.  The  mere  idea  of  such  a  visit 
argued  too  plainly  that  you  knew  nothing  of  the  family  circle  in 
which,  for  my  sake,  you  were  ready  to  take  a  place." 

It  is  sad  to  read  such  words.  Carlyle  pretended  that  he  knew 
Mrs.  Welsh.  Human  creatures  are  not  all  equally  unreasonable  ; 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  203 

and  he  knew  as  little  of  her  as  he  said  that  her  daughter  knew  of 
Scotsbrig.  The  two  mothers,  when  the  family  connection  brought 
them  together,  respected  each  other,  could  meet  without  difficulty, 
and  part  with  a  mutual  regard  which  increased  with  acquaintance. 
Had  the  incompatibility  been  as  real  as  he  supposed,  Carlyle's 
strange  oblivion  both  of  his  intended  wife's  and  his  wife's  mother's 
natural  feelings  would  still  be  without  excuse. 

His  mind  was  fixed,  as  men's  minds  are  apt  to  be  in  such  circum- 
stances. He  chose  to  have  his  own  way,  and  since  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  Miss  Welsh  to  live  at  Scotsbrig,  and  as  he  had  on  his  side 
determined  that  he  would  not  live  with  Mrs.  Welsh,  some  alterna- 
tive had  to  be  looked  for.  Once  more  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
showing  his  defective  perception  of  common  things.  Mrs.  Welsh 
had  resolved,  to  leave  Haddington  and  to  give  up  her  house  there 
immediately.  The  associations  of  the  place  after  her  daughter  was 
gone  would  necessarily  be  most  painful.  All  her  friends,  the  social 
circle  of  which  she  had  been  the  centre,  regarded  the  marriage  with 
Carlyle  as  an  extraordinary  mesalliance.  To  them  he  was  known 
only  as  an  eccentric  farmer's  son  without  profession  or  prospects, 
and  their  pity  or  their  sympathy  would  be  alike  distressing.  She 
had  herself  found  him  moody,  violent,  and  imperious,  and  she  at 
least  could  only  regard  his  conduct  as  extremely  selfish.  Men  in  the 
situation  of  lovers  often  are  selfish.  It  is  only  in  novels  that  they 
are  heroic  or  even  considerate.  It  occurred  to  Carlyle  that  since 
Mrs.  Welsh  was  going  away  the  house  at  Haddington  would  do 
well  for  himself.  There  it  stood,  rea.dy  provided  with  all  that  was 
necessary.  He  recollected  that  Edinburgh  was  noisy  and  disagree- 
able, Haddington  quiet,  and  connected  with  his  own  most  pleasant 
recollections.  It  might  have  occurred  to  him  that  under  such  al- 
tered circumstances,  where  she  would  be  surrounded  by  a  number 
of  acquaintances,  to  every  one  of  whom  her  choice  appeared  like 
madness,  Miss  Welsh  might  object  to  living  there  as  much  as  her 
mother.  She  made  her  objections  as  delicately  as  she  could ;  but 
he  pushed  them  aside  as  if  they  were  mere  disordered  fancies ;  and 
the  fear  of  ' '  nauseous  intruders, "  which  had  before  appeared  so 
dreadful  to  him,  he  disposed  of  with  the  most  summary  serenity. 
"To  me,"  he  calmly  wrote,  "among  the  weightier  evils  and  bless- 
ings of  existence,  the  evil  of  impertinent  visitors,  and  so  forth,  seems 
but  a  small  drop  of  the  bucket,  and  an  exceedingly  little  thing.  I 
have  nerve  in  me  to  despatch  that  sort  of  deer  forever  by  dozens  in 
the  day." 

"That  sort  of  deer"  were  the  companions  who  had  grown  up  be- 
side Miss  Welsh  for  twenty  years.  She  was  obliged  to  tell  him  per- 
emptorily that  she  would  not  hear  of  this  plan.  It  would  have  been 
happier  and  perhaps  better  both  for  her  and  for  him  had  she  taken 


204  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

warning  from  the  unconscious  exhibition  which  he  had  made  of  his 
inner  nature.  After  forty  years  of  life  with  him — forty  years  of 
splendid  labor,  in  which  his  essential  conduct  had  been  pure  as 
snow,  and  unblemished  by  a  serious  fault,  when  she  saw  him  at 
length  rewarded  by  the  honor  and  admiration  of  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica— she  had  to  preach  nevertheless  to  her  younger  friends  as  the 
sad  lesson  of  her  own  experience,  "My  dear,  whatever  you  do,  never 
marry  a  man  of  genius."  The  mountain-peaks  of  intellect  are  no 
homes  for  quiet  people.  Those  who  are  cursed  or  blessed  with  lofty 
gifts  and  lofty  purposes  may  be  gods  in  their  glory  and  their  great- 
ness, but  are  rarely  tolerable  as  human  companions.  Carlyle  con- 
sented to  drop  the  Haddington  proposal,  not,  however,  without  show- 
ing that  he  thought  Miss  Welsh  less  wise  than  he  had  hoped. 

"The  vacant  house  at  Haddington  [he  said]  occurred  to  my  rec- 
ollection like  a  sort  of  godsend  expressly  suited  to  our  purpose.  It 
seemed  so  easy,  and  on  other  accounts  so  indispensable,  to  let  it 
stand  undisposed  of  for  another  year,  that  I  doubted  not  a  moment 
but  the  whole  matter  was  arranged.  If  it  turned  out,  which  I  reck- 
oned to  be  impossible  if  you  were  not  distracted  in  mind,  that  you 
really  liked  better  to  front  the  plashes  and  puddles  and  the  thou- 
sand inclemencies  of  Scotsbrig  through  winter  than  live  another  six 
months  in  the  house  where  you  had  lived  all  your  days,  it  was  the 
simplest  process  imaginable  to  stay  where  we  were.  The  loss  was 
but  of  a  few  months'  rent  for  your  mother's  house,  and  the  certain- 
ty it  gave  us  made  its  great  gain.  Even  yet  I  cannot,  with  the  whole 
force  of  my  vast  intellect,  understand  how  my  project  has  failed.  I 
wish  not  to  undervalue  your  objections  to  the  place,  or  your  opin- 
ion on  any  subject  whatever,  but  I  confess  my  inability  with  my 
present  knowledge  to  reconcile  this  very  peremptory  distaste  with 
your  usual  good-sense." 

Again  the  plans  were  all  astray.  An  Annandale  cottage  was  once 
more  thought  of,  and  once  more,  again,  the  difference  in  point  of 
view  became  prominent. 

"I  should  have  200?.  to  begin  with  [Carlyle  said],  and  many  an 
honest  couple  has  begun  with  less.  I  know  that  wives  are  support- 
ed, some  in  peace  and  dignity,  others  in  contention  and  disgrace, 
according  to  their  wisdom  or  their  folly,  on  all  incomes  from  14£.  a 
year  to  200,000?.,  and  I  trusted  in  Jane  Welsh,  and  still  trust  in  her, 
for  good-sense  enough  to  accommodate  her  wants  to  the  means  of 
the  man  she  has  chosen  before  all  others,  and  to  live  with  him  con- 
tented on  whatever  it  should  please  Providence  to  allot  him,  keeping 
within  their  revenue,  not  struggling  to  get  without  it,  and  therefore 
rich,  by  whatever  arithmetical  symbol,  whether  tens,  hundreds,  or 
thousands,  by  which  that  same  revenue  might  be  expressed.  This 
is  not  impossible,  or  even  very  difficult,  provided  the  will  be  truly 
there.  Say  what  we  like,  it  is  in  general  our  stupidity  that  makes 
us  straitened  or  contemptible.  The  sum  of  money  is  a  very  second- 
ary matter.  One  of  the  happiest,  most  praiseworthy,  and  really 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  205 

most  enviable  families  on  the  earth  at  present  lives  within  two  bow- 
shots of  me — that  of  Wightman,  the  hedger— on  the  produce  of  fif- 
teenpence  per  diem,  which  the  man  earns  peacefully  with  his  mat- 
tock and  bill,  not  counting  himself  any  philosopher  for  so  doing. 
Their  cottage  on  our  hill  is  as  tidy  as  a  cabinet.  They  have  a  black- 
eyed  boy  whom  few  squires  can  parallel.  Their  girnel  is  always 
full  of  meal.  The  man  is  a  true,  honest,  most  wisely-conditioned 
man,  an  elder  of  the  congregation,  and  meekly  but  firmly  persuaded 
that  he  shall  go  to  heaven  when  his  hedging  here  below  is  done. 
What  want  these  knaves  that  a  king  should  have?" 

If  Carlyle  had  looked  into  the  economics  of  the  Wightman  house- 
hold, he  would  have  seen  that  the  wife  made  her  own  and  her  hus- 
band's and  the  child's  clothes,  that  she  cooked  the  meals,  swept  and 
cleaned  the  house  that  was  "  tidy  as  a  cabinet,"  washed  the  flannels 
and  the  linen,  and  weeded  the  garden  when  she  required  fresh  air — 
that  she  worked,  in  fact,  at  severe  bodily  labor  from  sunrise  to  sun- 
set. Had  he  inquired  into  this,  it  is  possible  (though  it  would  have 
depended  on  his  mood)  that  he  might  have  asked  himself  whether 
Miss  AYelsh,  setting  aside  her  education  and  habits,  was  physically 
capable  of  these  exertions,  and  whether  he  had  a  right  to  expect  her 
to  undertake  them.  Happily  neither  she  nor  her  mother  had  com- 
pletely parted  with  their  senses.  They  settled  the  matter  at  last  in 
their  own  fashion.  The  Haddington  establishment  was  broken  up. 
They  moved  to  Edinburgh,  and  took  the  house  in  Comely  Bank 
which  Carlyle  mentioned.  Mrs.  Welsh  undertook  to  pay  the  rent, 
and  the  Haddington  furniture  was  carried  thither.  She  proposed  to 
remain  there  with  her  daughter  till  October,  and  was  then  to  remove 
finally  to  her  father's  house  at  Templand,  where  the  ceremony  was 
to  come  off.  Carlyle,  when  once  married  and  settled  in  Edinburgh, 
would  be  in  the  way  of  any  employment  which  might  offer  for  him. 
At  Comely  Bank,  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Welsh  could  be  received  occa- 
sionally as  a  visitor.  For  immediate  expenses  of  living  there  was 
Carlyle's  2(HK,  and  such  additions  to  it  as  he  could  earn.  Miss 
Welsh  recovered  hope  and  spirit,  and  wrote  in  June  from  the  new 
home,  describing  it  and  its  position : 

"It  is  by  no  means  everything  one  might  wish  [she  said];  but  it 
is  by  much  the  most  suitable  that  could  be  got,  particularly  in  situa- 
tion, being  within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  the  town,  and  at  the  same 
time  well  out  of  its  smoke  and  bustle.  Indeed,  it  would  be  quite 
country -looking,  only  that  it  is  one  of  a  range ;  for  there  is  a  real 
flower-garden  in  front,  overshadowed  by  a  fair  spreading  tree, while 
the  windows  look  out  on  the  greenest  fields  with  never  a  street  to  be 
seen.  As  for  interior  accommodation,  there  are  a  dining-room  and  a 
drawing-room,  three  sleeping-rooms,  a  kitchen,  and  more  closets  than 
I  can  see  the  least  occasion  for  unless  you  design  to  be  another  Blue 
Beard.  So  you  see  we  shall  have  apartments  enough,  on  a  small 
I.— 10 


206  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

scale  indeed,  almost  laughably  small;  but  if  this  is  no  objection  in 
your  eyes,  neither  is  it  any  in  mine." 

Carlyle  was  supremely  satisfied.  The  knotty  problem  "which  had 
seemed  so  hopeless  was  now  perfectly  solved. 

To  Miss  Welsh. 

"Scotsbrig:  July  19, 1826. 

"It  is  thus  the  mind  of  man  cafl  learn  to  command  the  most  com- 
plex destiny,  and  like  an  experienced  steersman  (to  speak  in  a  most 
original  figure)  to  steer  its  bark  through  all  imaginable  currents,  un- 
dercurrents, quicksands,  reefs,  and  stormy  weather.  Here  are  two 
swallows  in  the  corner  of  my  window  that  have  taken  a  house  (not 
at  Comely  Bank)  this  summer ;  and,  in  spite  of  drought  and  bad 
crops,  are  bringing  up  a  family  together  with  the  highest  content- 
ment and  unity  of  soul.  Surely,  surely,  Jane  Welsh  and  Thomas 
Carlyle  here  as  they  stand  have  in  them  conjunctly  the  wisdom  of 
many  swallows.  Let  them  exercise  it  then,  in  God's  name,  and  live 
happy  as  these  birds  of  passage  are  doing.  It  is  not  nature  that  made 
men  unhappy,  but  their  own  despicable  perversities.  The  Deuce  is 
in  the  people!  Have  they  not  food  and  raiment  fit  for  all  the  wants 
of  the  body;  and  wives,  and  children,  and  brothers,  and  parents,  and 
holiest  duties  for  the  wants  of  the  soul  ?  What  ails  them,  then,  the 
ninnies?  Their  vanity,  their  despicable,  very  despicable  self-conceit, 
conjoined  with,  or  rather  grounded  on.their  lowness  of  mind.  They 
want  to  be  happy,  and  by  happiness  they  mean  pleasure,  a  series  of 
passive  enjoyments.  If  they  had  a  quarter  of  an  eye  they  would 
see  that  there  not  only  was  not,  but  could  not  be  such  a  thing  in 
God's  creation.  I  often  seriously  thank  this  otherwise  my  infernal 
distemper  for  having  helped  to  teach  me  these  things.  They  are 
not  to  be  learned  without  sore  affliction.  Happy  he  to  whom  even 
affliction  will  teach  them!  and  here  ends  my  present  lecture." 

The  great  business  having  been  once  arranged,  the  rest  of  the 
summer  flew  swiftly  by.  "German  Romance"  was  finished,  and 
paid  for  the  marriage  expenses.  The  world  was  taken  into  confi- 
dence by  a  formal  announcement  of  what  was  impending :  Miss 
Welsh,  writing  for  the  first  time  to  her  relations,  sent  a  description 
of  her  intended  husband  to  the  wife  of  her  youngest  uncle,  Mrs. 
George  Welsh.  She  was  not  blinded  by  affection — no  one  ever  less 
so  in  her  circumstances.  I  have  not  kept  back  what  I  believe  to 
have  been  faults  in  Carlyle,  and  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  to  be  mar- 
ried knew  what  they  were  better  than  any  one  else  can  know;  yet 
here  was  her  deliberate  opinion  of  him.  He  stood  there  such  as  he 
had  made  himself:  a  peasant's  son  who  had  run  about  barefoot  in 
Ecclefechan  street,  with  no  outward  advantages,  worn  with  many 
troubles  bodily  and  mental.  His  life  had  been  pure  and  without 
spot.  He  was  an  admirable  son,  a  faithful  and  affectionate  brother, 
in  all  private  relations  blamelessly  innocent.  He  had  splendid  tal- 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  207 

ents, which  he  rather  felt  than  understood;  only  he  was  determined, 
in  the  same  high  spirit  and  duty  which  had  governed  his  personal 
conduct,  to  use  them  well,  whatever  they  might  be,  as  a  trust  com- 
mitted to  him,  and  never,  never  to  sell  his  soul  by  travelling  the 
primrose  path  to  wealth  and  distinction.  If  honor  came  to  him, 
honor  was  to  come  unsought.  I  feel  as  if,  in  dwelling  on  his  wil- 

fulness, 

"  I  did  him  wrong,  being  so  majestical, 
To  offer  him  the  show  of  violence." 

But  I  learned  my  duty  from  himself:  to  paint  him  as  he  was,  to  keep 
back  nothing  and  extenuate  nothing.  I  never  knew  a  man  whose 
reputation,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  would  emerge  less  scathed  from 
so  hard  a  scrutiny. 

Miss  "Welsh's  letter  was  sent  to  Carlyle  after  her  death  in  1866. 
It  came  to  him,  as  he  said,  "as  a  flash  of  radiance  from  above." 
One  or  two  slight  notes  which  he  attached  are  marked  with  his 
initials,  "T.  C." 

To  Mrs.  George  Welsh,  Boreland,  Dumfries. 

"Templand:  September,  1826. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Welsh, — You  must  think  me  just  about  the  most 
faithless  character  in  the  nation ;  but  I  know,  myself,  that  I  am  far 
from  being  so  bad  as  I  seem.  The  truth  is,  the  many  strange  things 
I  have  had  to  do  and  think  of  in  late  months  left  me  no  leisure  of 
mind  for  writing  mere  complimentary  letters;  but  still  you,  as  well 
as  others  of  my  friends,  have  not  been  remembered  by  me  with  the 
less  kindness  that  you  have  seen  no  expression  of  my  remembrance 
on  paper.  So  pray  do  not  go  to  entertain  any  hard  thoughts  of  me, 
my  good  little  aunt,  seeing  that  at  bottom  I  deserve  nothing  but  lov- 
ing-kindness at  your  hands.  Better  add  a  spice  of  long-suffering  to 
your  loving-kindness,  which  will  make  us  the  very  best  friends  in 
the  world. 

"  It  were  no  news  to  you  what  a  momentous  matter  I  have  been 
busied  with.  'Not  to  know  that  would  argue  yourself  unknown.' 
For  a  marriage  is  a  topic  suited  to  the  capacities  of  all  living;  and 
in  this,  as  in  every  other  known  instance,  has  been  made  the  most  of. 
But,  forasmuch  as  much  breath  has  been  wasted  on  'my  situation,' 
I  have  my  own  doubts  whether  they  have  given  you  any  right  idea 
of  it.  They  would  tell  you,  I  should  suppose,  first  and  foremost, 
that  my  intended  is  poor  (for  that  it  requires  no  great  depth  of  sagac- 
ity to  discover) ;  and  in  the  next  place,  most  likely,  indulge  in  some 
criticisms  scarce  flattering  on  his  birth,1  the  more  likely  if  their  own 
birth  happened  to  be  mean  or  doubtful ;  and  if  they  happened  to  be 
vulgar  fine  people,  with  disputed  pretensions  to  good  looks,  they 


1  "Gracie,  of  Dumfries,  kind  of  'genealogist  by  trade,' had  marked  long  since  (of 
lr>  own  accord,  not  knowing  me)  my  grandfather  to  be  lineally  descended  from  the 
•lirs-t  Lord  Carlyle, 'and  brings  us  down  from  the  brother  of  the  murdered  Duncan. 
What  laughing  my  darling  and  I  had  when  that  document  arrived. — T.  C." 


208  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

would  to  a  certainty  set  him  down  as  unpolished  and  ill-looking. 
But  a  hundred  chances  to  one  they  would  not  tell  you  he  is  among 
the  cleverest  men  of  his  day — and  not  the  cleverest  only,  but  the 
most  enlightened;  that  he  possesses  all  the  qualities  I  deem  essential 
in  my  husband — a  warm,  true  heart  to  love  me,  a  towering  intellect 
to  command  me,  and  a  spirit  of  fire  to  be  the  guiding-star  of  my 
life.1  Excellence  of  this  sort  always  requires  some  degree  of  supe- 
riority in  those  who  duly  appreciate  it.  In  the  eyes  of  the  canaille, 
poor  soulless  wretches,  it  is  mere  foolishness;  and  it  is  only  the 
canaille  who  babble  about  other  people's  affairs. 

' '  Such,  then,  is  this  future  husband  of  mine — not  a  great  man  ac- 
cording to  the  most  common  sense  of  the  word,  but  truly  great  in  its 
natural  proper  sense :  a  scholar,  a  poet,  a  philosopher,  a  wise  and 
noble  man,  one  'who  holds  his  patent  of  nobility  from  Almighty 
God,'  and  whose  high  stature  of  manhood  is  not  to  be  measured  by 
the  inch  rule  of  Lilliputs.  Will  you  like  him?  No  matter  whether 
you  do  or  not,  since  I  like  him  in  the  deepest  part  of  my  soul." 

"I  would  invite  you  to  my  wedding  if  I  meant  to  invite  any  one; 
but  to  my  taste  such  ceremonies  cannot  be  too  private.  Besides,  by 
making  distinctions  amongst  my  relations  on  the  occasion,  I  should 
be  sure  to  give  offence  ;  and  by  God's  blessing  I  will  have  no  one 
there  who  does  not  feel  kindly  both  towards  him  and  me. 

' '  My  affectionate  regards  to  my  uncle ;  a  kiss  to  wee  John ;  and 
believe  me  always, 

"  Your  sincere  friend  and  dutiful  niece,          JANE  WELSH.  "3 

The  wedding-day  drew  on;  not  without  •(as  was  natural)  more  than 
the  usual  nervousness  on  both  sides  at  the  irrevocable  step  which 
was  about  to  be  ventured.  Carlyle  knew  too  well  "that  he  was  a 
perverse  mortal  to  deal  with,"  "that  the  best  resolutions  made  ship- 
wreck in  practice,"  and  that  "  it  was  a  chance  if  any  woman  could 
be  happy  with  him."  "The  brightest  moment  of  his  existence," 
as  in  anticipation  he  had  regarded  his  marriage,  was  within  three 
weeks  of  him,  yet  he  found  himself  "splenetic,  sick,  sleepless,  void 
of  faith,  hope,  and  charity — in  short,  altogether  bad  and  worthless." 
"I  trust  Heaven  I  shall  be  better  soon,"  he  said;  "a  certain  incident 
otherwise  will  wear  a  quite  original  aspect."  Clothes  had  to  be  pro- 
vided, gloves  thought  of.  Scotch  custom  not  recognizing  licenses 
in  such  cases,  required  that  the  names  of  the  intending  pair  should 
be  proclaimed  in  their  respective  'churches ;  and  this  to  both  of  them 
was  intolerable.  They  were  to  be  married  in  the  morning  at  Temp- 
land  church,  and  to  go  the  same  day  to  Comely  Bank. 

Carlyle,  thrifty  always,  considered  it  might  be  expedient  "to  take 

i  "Alas!  alas!— T.  C." 

*  "God  bless  thee,  dear  one!— T.  C. " 

8  "  Letter  read  now — .January  24, 1808 — after  a  sleepless  night  withal  such  as  has  too 
often  befallen  latterly,  cuts  me  through  the  soul  with  inexpressible  feelings— remorse 
no  small  portion  of  them.  Oh,  my  ever  dear  one!  How  was  all  this  fulfilled  for  thee 
fulfilled!!-!.  C." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  209 

seats  in  the  coach  from  Dumfries."  The  coach  would  be  safer  than 
a  carriage,  more  certain  of  arriving,  etc.  So  nervous  was  he,  too, 
that  he  wished  his  brother  John  to  accompany  them  on  their  journey 
— at  least  part  of  the  way.  In  her  mind  the  aspect  of  the  affair 
varied  between  tragic  and  comic,  Carlyle's  troubles  over  the  details 
being  ludicrous  enough. 

"I  am  resolved  in  spirit  [she  said],  and  even  joyful — joyful  in 
the  face  of  the  dreaded  ceremony,  of  starvation,  and  of  every  horri- 
ble fate.  Oh,  my  dearest  friend,  be  always  so  good  to  me,  and  I 
shall  make  the  best  and  happiest  wife.  When  I  read  in  your  looks 
and  words  that  you  love  me,  then  I  care  not  one  straw  for  the  whole 
universe  besides.  But  when  you  fly  from  me  to  smoke  tobacco,  or 
speak  of  me  as  a  mere  circumstance  of  your  lot,  then  indeed  my 
heart  is  troubled  about  many  things." 

Miss  Welsh,  too,  as  well  as  Carlyle,  had  a  fiery  temper.  When 
provoked  she  was  as  hard  as  flint,  with  possibilities  of  dangerous 
sparks  of  fire.  She  knew  her  tendencies  and  made  the  best  resolu- 
tions : 

"  I  am  going  really  to  be  a  very  meek- tempered  wife  [she  wrote 
to  him].  Indeed,  I  am  begun  to  be  meek-tempered  already.  My 
aunt  tells  me  she  could  live  forever  with  me  without  quarrelling,  I 
am  so  reasonable  and  equable  in  my  humor.  There  is  something 
to  gladden  your  heart  withal.  And  more  than  this,  my  grandfather 
observed,  while  I  was  supping  my  porridge  last  night,  that  '  she  was 
really  a  douce  peaceable  body  that  Pen.'  Do  you  perceive,  my 
good  sir,  the  fault  will  be  wholly  your  own  if  we  do  not  get  on 
most  harmoniously  together." 

The  grandfather,  as  Carlyle  was  coming  into  his  family,  was 
studying  what  he  had  already  written. 

"My  grandfather  [she  added]  has  been  particularly  picturesque 
these  two  days.  On  coming  down-stairs  on  Sunday  evening  I  found 
him  poring  over  '  Wilhelm  Meister.'  '  A  strange  choice.'  I  observed, 
by  way  of  taking  the  first  word  with  him,  'for  Sunday  reading.' 
He  answered  me  quite  sharply,  '  Not  at  all,  miss;  the  book  is  a  very 
good  book;  it  is  all  about  David  and  Goliah.' " 

Jest  as  she  would,  however,  Miss  Welsh  was  frightened  and  Car- 
lyle was  frightened.  The  coach  suggestion  had  sent  a  shiver  through 
her.  They  comforted  one  another  as  if  they  were  going  to  be  exe- 
cuted. 

To  TJwmas  Carlyle. 

"  Templand :  October  10. 

"  You  desired  me  to  answer  your  letter  on  Thursday,  but  I  have 
waited  another  post  that  I  might  do  it  better,  if  indeed  any  good 
thing  is  to  be  said  under  such  horrid  circumstances.  Oh  do,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  get  into  a  more  benignant  humor,  or  the  incident 
will  not  only  wear  a  very  original  aspect,  but  likewise  a  very  heart- 


210  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

breaking  one.  I  see  not  how  I  am  to  go  through  with  it.  I  turn 
quite  sick  at  the  thought.  But  it  were  Job's  comfort  to  vex  you 
with  my  anxieties  and  'severe  affection.'  I  will  rather  set  before 
you,  by  way  of  encouragement,  that  the  purgatory  will  soon  be  past, 
and  would  speak  peace  where  there  is  no  peace,  only  that  you  would 
easily  see  through  such  affected  philosophy.  There  is  nothing  for 
us  then  but,  like  the  Annan  congregation,  to  pray  to  the  Lord. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  delayed  writing  that  I  might  do  it  more  satis- 
factorily for  this  reason.  I  expected  to  know  last  night  when  my 
mother  is  to  come  from  Edinburgh,  in  which  case  I  should  have 
been  able  to  name  some  day,  though  not  so  early  a  one  as  that  pro- 
posed; but  alas!  alas!  my  mother  is  dilatory  and  uncertain  as  ever, 
and  the  only  satisfaction  I  can  give  you  at  this  time  is  to  promise  I 
will  soon  write  again.  What  has  taken  her  to  Edinburgh  so  inop- 
portunely ?  to  set  some  fractions  of  women  cutting  out  white  gowns, 
a  thing  which  might  have  been  done  with  all  convenience  when  we 
were  there  last  month.  But  some  people  are  wise,  and  some  are 
otherwise,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  the  gowns  anyway,  for  I  should 
like  ill  to  put  you  to  charge  in  that  article  for  a  very  great  while. 
Besides,  you  know  it  would  be  a  bad  omen  to  marry  in  mourning. 
When  I  first  put  it  on,  six  years  ago,1 1  thought  to  wear  it  forever; 
but  I  have  found  a  second  father,  and  it  were  ungrateful  not  to 
show,  even  externally,  how  much  I  rejoice  in  him. 

' '  I  fear  you  must  be  proclaimed  to  your  own  parish.  Pity,  since 
you  are  so  ashamed  of  me ;  but  I  will  enlighten  you  on  that  head 
also  in  my  next. 

"With  respect  to  the  journey  part  of  the  business,  I  loudly  de- 
clare for  running  the  risk  of  being  stuck  up  part  of  the  way  (which 
at  this  season  of  the  year  is  next  to  none)  rather  than  undergo  the 
unheard-of  horror  of  being  thrown  into  the  company  of  strangers  in 
such  severe  circumstances,  or  possibly,  which  would  be  still  worse, 
of  some  acquaintance  in  the  stage-coach.  For  the  same  reason  I 
prohibit  John  from  going  with  us  an  inch  of  the  road ;  and  he  must 
not  think  there  is  any  unkindness  in  this.  I  hope  your  mother  is 
praying  for  me.  Give  her  my  affectionate  regards. 

"JANE  WELSH." 

Carlyle,  on  his  side,  tried  to  allay  his  fears  of  what  Miss  Welsh 
called  "the  odious  ceremony"  by  reading  Kant,  and  had  reached 
the  hundred  and  fiftieth  page  of  the  "  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft," 
when  he  found  that  it  was  too  abstnise  for  his  condition,  and  that 
Scott's  novels  would  answer  better.  With  this  assistance  he  tried 
to  look  more  cheerfully  on  the  adventure. 

"After  all  [he  said]  I  believe  we  take  this  impending  ceremony 
far  too  much  to  heart.  Bless  me  !  Have  not  many  people  been 
married  before  now  ?  and  were  they  not  all  carried  through  with 
some  measure  of  Christian  co-mfoart,  and  taught  to  see  that  marriage 
was  simply  nothing — but  marriage?  Take  courage,  then,  and  let 

i  For  her  father     She  had  worn  mourning  ever  since. 


-      LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  211 

no  '  cold  shudder '  come  over  you ;  and  call  not  this  an  odious  cere- 
mony, but  rather  a  blessed  ordinance  sanctioning  by  earthly  laws 
what  is  already  sanctioned  in  heaven;  uniting  two  souls  for  worldly 
joy  and  woe  which  in  God's  sight  have  chosen  one  another  from 
amongst  all  men.  Can  any  road  be  dark  which  is  leading  thither  ? 
You  will  see  it  will  be  all  'smooth  as  oil,'  notwithstanding  our 
forebodings.  Consider  Goethe's  saying,  '  We  look  on  our  scholars 
as  so  many  swimmers,  each  of  whom  in  the  element  that  threatened 
to  devour  him,  unexpectedly  feels  himself  borne  up  and  able  to 
make  progress;  and  so  it  is  with  all  that  man  undertakes' — with 
marriage  as  with  other  things.  By  all  reason,  therefore,  German 
and  English,  I  call  on  you  to  be  composed  in  spirit,  and  to  fear  no 
evil  in  this  really  blessed  matter. 

"To  your  arrangements  about  the  journey  and  the  other  items  of 
the  how*  and  when,  I  can  only  answer  as  becomes  me.  Be  it  as  thou 
hast  said.  Let  me  know  your  will  and  it  shall  be  my  pleasure. 
And  so  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven  we  shall  roll  along  side  by  side 
with  the  speed  of  post-horses  till  we  arrive  at  Comely  Bank.  I  shall 
only  stipulate  that  you  will  let  me,  by  the  road,  as  occasion  serves, 
smoke  three  cigars  without  criticism  or  reluctance,  as  things  essential 
to  my  perfect  contentment.  Yet  if  you  object  to  this  article,  think 
not  that  I  will  break  off  the  match  on  that  account,  but  rather,  like 
a  dutiful  husband,  submit  to  the  everlasting  ordinance  of  Provi- 
dence, and  let  my  wife  have  her  way. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  and  more  just  than  I  have  reason  to  expect, 
in  imputing  my  ill-natured  speeches  (for  which  Heaven  forgive  me) 
to  their  true  cause — a  disordered  nervous  system.  Believe  me,  Jane, 
it  is  not  I,  but  the  devil  speaking  out  of  me,  which  could  utter  one 
harsh  word  to  a  heart  that  so  little  deserves  it.  Oh,  I  were  blind 
and  wretched  if  I  could  make  thee  unhappy.  But  it  will  not  and 
shall  not  be,  for  I  am  not  naturally  a  villain;  and  at  bottom  I  do 
love  you  well.  And  so  when  we  have  learned  to  know  each  other 
as  we  are,  and  got  all  our  arrangements  accomplished  and  our 
household  set  in  order,  I  dare  promise  you  that  it  will  all  be  well, 
and  we  shall  live  far  happier  than  we  have  ever  hoped.  Sickness 
is  the  origin,  but  no  good  cause,  of  indiscriminating  spleen ;  if  we 
are  wise  we  must  learn,  if  not  to  resist,  at  least  to  evade  its  influences 
— a  science  in  which  even  I  in  the  midst  of  my  own  establishment 
fancy  I  have  made  some  progress,  and  despair  not  of  making  more. 

"As  to  the  proclamation,  on  which  I  expect  your  advice,  I  pro- 
test I  had  rather  be  proclaimed  in  all  the  parish  churches  of  the 
empire  than  miss  the  little  bird  I  have  in  my  eye,  whom  I  see  not 
how  I  am  to  do  without.  So  get  the  gowns  made  ready  and  loiter 
not,  and  tell  me,  and  in  a  twinkling  me  toila!  Thank  your  aunt  for 
her  kind  invitation,  which  I  do  not  refuse  or  accept  till  the  next 
letter,  waiting  to  see  how  matters  turn.  I  was  surely  born  to  be  a 
Bedouin.  Without  freedom  'I  should  soon  die  and  do  nocht  ava.' 
My  chosen  abode  is  in  my  own  house  in  preference  to  the  palace  of 
Windsor;  and  next  to  this  shall  I  not,  with  the  man  in  the  play,  take 
my  ease  at  mine  inn? 

"My  mother's  prayers  (to  speak  with  all  seriousness)  are,  I  do 
believe,  not  wanting  either  to  you  or  to  me,  and  if  the  sincere  wishes 


212  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  a  true  soul  can  have  any  virtue,  we  shall  not  want  a  blessing. 
She  bids  me  send  you  the  kindest  message  I  can  contrive,  which  I 
send  by  itself  without  contrivance.  She  says  she  will  have  one  good 
greet  when  we  set  off,  and  then  be  at  peace.  Now,  then,  what  re- 
mains but  that  you  appoint  the  date,  that  you  look  forward  to  it 
with  trust  in  me  and  trust  in  yourself,  and  come  with  trust  to  your 
husband's  arms  and  heart,  there  to  abide  through  all  chances  for- 
ever ?  Oh,  we  are  two  ungrateful  wretches,  or  we  should  be  happy. 
Write  soon,  and  love  me  forever ;  and  so  good-night,  mein  Herzens- 
kind.  Thine  auf  ewig,  T.  CARLYLE." 

So  the  long  drama  came  to  its  conclusion.  The  banns  were  pub- 
lished, the  clothes  made,  the  gloves  duly  provided.  The  day  was 
the  17th  of  October,  1826.  Miss  Welsh's  final  letter,  informing  Car- 
lyle  of  the  details  to  be  observed,  is  humorously  headed,  "  The  last 
Speech  and  marrying  Words  of  that  unfortunate  young  woman,  Jane 
Baillie  Welsh." 

"Truly  [answered  Carlyle],  a  most  delightful  and  swan-like  mel- 
ody is  in  them — a  tenderness  and  warm  devoted  trust  worthy  of  such 
a  maiden  bidding  farewell  to  the  unmarried  earth  of  which  she  was 
the  fairest  ornament.  Let  us  pray  to  God  that  our  holy  purpose  is 
not  frustrated.  Let  us  trust  in  him  and  in  each  other,  and  fear  no 
evil  that  can  befall  us." 

They  were  married  in  the  parish  church  of  Templand  in  the 
quietest  fashion,  the  minister  officiating,  John  Carlyle  the  only 
other  person  present  except  Miss  Welsh's  family.  Breakfast  over, 
they  drove  off,  not  in  the  coach,  but  in  a  post-chaise,  and  without 
the  brother.  No  delays  or  difficulties  befell  them  on  the  road. 
Whether  Carlyle  did  or  did  not  smoke  his  three  cigars  remains 
unrecorded.  In  the  evening  they  arrived  safely  at  Comely  Bank. 

Regrets  and  speculations  on  "the  might  have  beens"  of  life  are 
proverbially  vain.  Nor  is  it  certain  that  there  is  anything  to  re- 
gret. The  married  life  of  Carlyle  and  Jane  Welsh  was  not  happy 
in  the  roseate  sense  of  happiness.  In  the  fret  and  chafe  of  daily 
life  the  sharp  edges  of  the  facets  of  two  diamonds  remain  keen,  and 
they  never  wear  into  surfaces  which  harmoniously  correspond.  A 
man  and  a  woman  of  exceptional  originality  and  genius  are  proper 
mates  for  one  another  only  if  they  have  some  other  object  before 
them  besides  happiness,  and  are  content  to  do  without  it.  For  the 
forty  years  which  these  two  extraordinary  persons  lived  together, 
their  essential  conduct  to  the  world  and  to  each  other  was  sternly 
iipright.  They  had  to  encounter  poverty  in  its  most  threatening 
aspect — poverty  which  they  might  at  any  moment  have  escaped  if 
Carlyle  would  have  sacrificed  his  intellectual  integrity,  would  have 
carried  his  talents  to  the  market,  and  written  down  to  the  level  of 
the  multitude.  If  he  ever  flagged,  it  was  his  wife  who  spurred  him 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  213 

on;  nor  would  she  ever  allow  him  to  do  less  than  his  very  best. 
She  never  flattered  any  one,  least  of  all  her  husband;  and  when  she 
saw  cause  for  it,  the  sarcasms  flashed  out  from  her  as  the  sparks  fly 
from  lacerated  steel.  Carlyle,  on  his  side,  did  not  find  in  his  marriage 
the  miraculous  transformation  of  nature  which  he  had  promised  him- 
self. He  remained  lonely  and  dyspeptic,  possessed  by  thoughts  and 
convictions  which  struggled  in  him  for  utterance,  and  which  could 
be  fused  and  cast  into  form  only  (as  I  have  heard  him  say)  when  his 
whole  mind  was  like  a  furnace  at  white  heat.  The  work  which  he 
has  done  is  before  the  world,  and  the  world  has  long  acknowledged 
what  it  owes  to  him.  It  would  not  have  been  done  as  well,  perhaps 
it  would  never  have  been  done  at  all,  if  he  had  not  had  a  woman  at 
his  side  who  would  bear,  without  resenting  it,  the  outbreaks  of  his 
dyspeptic  humor,  and  would  shield  him  from  the  petty  troubles  of 
a  poor  man's  life — from  vexations  which  would  have  irritated  him 
to  madness — by  her  own  incessant  toil. 

The  victory  was  won,  but,  as  of  old  in  Aulis,  not  without  a  vic- 
tim. Miss  Welsh  had  looked  forward  to  being  Carlyle's  intellectual 
companion,  to  sharing  his  thoughts  and  helping  him  with  his  writ- 
ings. She  was  not  overrating  her  natural  powers  when  she  felt  be- 
ing equal  to  such  a  position  and  deserving  it.  The  reality  was  not 
like  the  dream.  Poor  as  they  were,  she  had  to  work  as  a  menial 
servant.  She,  who  had  never  known  a  wish  ungratified  for  any  ob- 
ject which  money  could  buy;  she,  who  had  seen  the  rich  of  the  land 
at  her  feet,  and  might  have  chosen  among  them  at  pleasure,  with  a 
weak  frame  withal  which  had  never  recovered  the  shock  of  her  fa- 
ther's death — she  after  all  was  obliged  to  slave  like  the  wife  of  her 
husband's  friend  Wightman,  the  hedger,  and  cook  and  wash  and 
scour  and  mend  shoes  and  clothes  for  many  a  weary  year.  Bravely 
she  went  through  it  all ;  and  she  would  have  gone  through  it  cheer- 
fully if  she  had  been  rewarded  with  ordinary  gratitude.  But  if 
things  were  done  rightly,  Carlyle  did  not  inquire  who  did  them. 
Partly  he  was  occupied,  partly  he  was  naturally  undemonstrative, 
and  partly  she  in  generosity  concealed  from  him  the  worst  which 
she  had  to  bear.  The  hardest  part  of  all  was  that  he  did  not  see 
that  there  was  occasion  for  any  special  acknowledgment.  Poor  men's 
wives  had  to  work.  She  was  a  poor  man's  wife,  and  it  was  fit  and 
natural  that  she  should  work.  He  had  seen  his  mother  and  his  sis- 
ters doing  the  drudgery  of  his  father's  household  without  expecting 
to  be  admired  for  doing  it.  Mrs.  Carlyle's  life  was  entirely  lonely, 
save  so  far  as  she  had  other  friends.  He  consulted  her  judgment 
about  his  writings,  for  he  knew  the  value  of  it,  but  in  his  concep- 
tions and  elaborations  he  chose  to  be  always  by  himself.  He  said 
truly  that  he  was  a  Bedouin.  When  he  was  at  work  he  could 
bear  no  one  in  the  room;  and,  at  least  through  middle  life,  he  rode 

10* 


214  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  walked  alone,  not  choosing  to  have  his  thoughts  interrupted. 
The  slightest  noise  or  movement  at  night  shattered  his  nervous  sys- 
tem; therefore  he  required  a  bedroom  to  himself;  thus  from  the  first 
she  saw  little  of  him,  and  as  time  went  on  less  and  less ;  and  she, 
too,  was  human  and  irritable.  Carlyle  proved,  as  his  mother  had 
known  him,  "ill  to  live  with."  Generous  and  kind  as  he  was  at 
heart,  and  as  he  always  showed. himself  when  he  had  leisure  to 
reflect,  "the  devil,"  as  he  had  said,  "continued  to  speak  out  of 
him  in  distempered  sentences,"  and  the  bitter  arrow  was  occasion- 
ally shot  back. 

Miss  Welsh,  it  is  probable,  would  have  passed  through  life  more 
pleasantly  had  she  married  some  one  in  her  own  rank  of  life;  Car- 
lyle might  have  gone  through  it  successfully  with  his  mother  or  a 
sister  to  look  after  him.  But,  after  all  is  said,  trials  and  sufferings 
are  only  to  be  regretted  when  they  have  proved  too  severe  to  be  borne. 
Though  the  lives  of  the  Carlyles  were  not  happy,  yet  if  we  look  at 
them  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  they  were  grandly  beautiful. 
Neither  of  them  probably  under  other  conditions  would  have  risen 
to  as  high  an  excellence  as  in  fact  they  each  achieved;  and  the  main 
question  is  not  how  happy  men  and  women  have  been  in  this  world, 
but  what  they  have  made  of  themselves.  I  well  remember  the 
bright  assenting  laugh  with  which  she  once  responded  to  some 
words  of  mine  when  the  propriety  was  being  discussed  of  relaxing 
the  marriage  laws.  I  had  said  that  the  true  way  to  look  at  mar- 
riage was  as  a  discipline  of  character. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
A.D.  1826.     ,ET.  31. 

MARRIED  life  had  begun ;  and  the  first  eighteen  months  of  his 
new  existence  Carlyle  afterwards  looked  back  upon  as  the  happiest 
that  he  had  ever  known.  Yet  the  rest  which  he  had  expected  did 
not  come  immediately.  He  could  not  rest  without  work,  and  work 
was  yet  to  be  found.  Men  think  to  mend  their  condition  by  a 
change  of  circumstances.  They  might  as  well  hope  to  escape  from 
their  shadows.  His  wife  was  tender,  careful,  thoughtful,  patient, 
but  the  spirit  which  possessed  her  husband,  whether  devil  or  angel 
he  could  hardly  tell,  still  left  him  without  peace. 

"I  am  still  dreadfully  confused  [he  wrote  to  his  mother  a  few 
days  after  his  arrival  at  Comely  Bank],  I  am  still  far  from  being  at 
home  in  my  new  situation,  but  I  have  reason  to  say  that  I  have  been 
mercifully  dealt  with ;  and  if  an  outward  man  worn  with  continual 
harassments  and  spirits  wasted  with  so  many  agitations  would  let 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  215 

me  see  it,  that  I  may  fairly  calculate  on  being  far  happier  than  I 
have  ever  been.  The  house  is  a  perfect  model,  furnished  with  every 
accommodation  that  heart  could  desire ;  and  for  my  wife,  I  may  say 
in  my  heart  that  she  is  far  better  than  any  wife,  and  loves  me  with 
a  devotedness  which  it  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  I  have  ever  de- 
served. She  is  gay  and  happy  as  a  lark,  and  looks  with  such  soft 
cheerfulness  into  my  gloomy  countenance,  that  new  hope  passed 
into  me  every  time  I  met  her  eye.  In  truth,  I  was  very  sullen  yes- 
terday, sick  with  sleeplessness,  nervous,  bilious,  splenetic,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it." 

His  days  were  spent  in  solitary  wanderings  by  the  sad  autumnal 
sea.  He  begged  his  brother  John  to  come  to  him. 

"  I  am  all  in  a  maze  [he  said],  scarce  knowing  the  right  hand  from 
the  left  in  the  path  I  have  to  walk.  I  am  still  insufficiently  supplied 
with  sleep ;  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  my  sky  should  be  tinged  with 
gloom.  Tell  my  mother,  however,  that  I  do  believe  I  shall  get  heft- 
ed to  my  new  situation,  and  then  be  one  of  the  happiest  men  alive. 
Tell  her  also  that  by  Jane's  express  request  I  am  to  read  a  sermon 
and  a  chapter  with  commentary,  at  least  every  Sabbath  day,  to  my 
household  ;  also  that  we  are  taking  seats  in  church,  and  design  to 
live  soberly  and  devoutly  as  beseems  us.  On  the  whole  this  wife  of 
mine  surpasses  my  hopes.  She  is  so  tolerant,  so  kind,  so  cheerful, 
so  devoted  to  me  :  oh  that  I  were  worthy  of  her !  Why  am  I  not 
happy  then?  Alas!  Jack  I  am  bilious.  I  have  to  swallow  salts  and 
oil ;  the  physic  leaves  me  pensive  yet  quiet  in  heart,  and  on  the  whole 
happy  enough ;  but  the  next  day  comes  a  burning  stomach  and  a 
heart  full  of  bitterness  and  gloom." 

The  entries  in  his  diary  are  still  more  desponding : 

"December  7,  1826. — My  whole  life  has  been, a  continual  night- 
mare, and  my  awakening  will  be  in  hell. — TIECK. 

"There  is  just  one  man  unhappy:  he  who  is  possessed  by  some 
idea  which  he  cannot  convert  into  action,  or  still  more,  which  re- 
strains or  withdraws  him  from  action. — GOETHE. 

"  The  end  of  man  is  an  action,  not  a  thought. — ARISTOTLE. 

"Adam  is  fabled  by  the  Talmudists  to  have  had  a  wife  before 
Eve :  she  was  called  Lilith,  and  their  progeny  was  all  manner  of 
aquatic  and  aerial — devils. — BURTON." 

As  he  grew  more  composed  Carlyle  thought  of  writing  some 
kind  of  didactic  novel.  He  could  not  write  a  novel,  any  more  than 
he  could  write  poetry.  He  had  no  invention.  His  genius  was  for 
fact :  to  lay  hold  on  truth,  with  all  his  intellect  and  all  his  imagina- 
tion. He  could  no  more  invent  than  he  could  lie.  Still  he  labored 
at  it  in  his  thoughts,  and  in  the  intervals  he  threw  himself  into  a 
course  of  wide  and  miscellaneous  reading.  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
Raleigh,  Shaftesbury,  Herder,  Tieck,  Hans  Sachs,  Werner,  Sir  Will- 
iam Temple,  Scaliger,  Burton,  Alison,  Mendelssohn,  Fichte,  Schell- 
ing,  Kant,  Heine,  Italian  books,  Spanish  books,  French  books,  occu- 


216  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

pied  or  at  least  distracted  him,  and  short  extracts  or  observations 
mark  his  steps  as  he  went  along : 

"December  3, 1826. — The  conclusion  of  the  essay  on  Urn-burial 
(Sir  Thomas  Browne)  is  absolutely  beautiful:  a  still  elegiac  mood, 
so  soft,  so  deep,  so  solemn  and  tender,  like  the  song  of  some  depart- 
ed saint  flitting  faint  under  the  everlasting  canopy  of  night ;  an  echo 
of  deepest  meaning  '  from  the  great  and  famous  nations  of  the  dead.' 
Browne  must  have  been  a  good  man.  What  was  his  history?  What 
the  real  form  of  his  character?  Abiit  ad  plures.  '  He  hath  gone  to 
the  greater  number. '  Two  infants  reasoning  in  the  womb  about  the 
nature  of  this  life  might  be  no  unhandsome  type  of  two  men  reason- 
ing here  about  the  life  that  is  to  come.  I  should  like  to  know  more 
of  Browne ;  but  I  ought  to  understand  his  time  better  also.  What 
are  we  to  make  of  this  old  English  literature?  Touches  of  true  beau- 
ty are  thickly  scattered  over  these  works ;  great  learning,  solidity  of 
thought;  but  much,  much  that  now  cannot  avail  any  longer.  Cer- 
tainly the  spirit  of  that  age  was  far  better  than  that  of  ours.  Is 
the  form  of  our  literature  an  improvement  intrinsically,  or  only  a 
form  better  adapted  to  our  actual  condition?  I  often  think  the  lat- 
ter. Difficulty  of  speaking  on  these  points  without  affectation. 
We  know  not  what  to  think,  and  would  gladly  think  something 
very  striking  and  pretty. 

"Sir Walter  Raleigh's  'Advice  to  his  Son,' worldly-wise,  sharp, 
far-seeing.  The  motto,  'Nothing  like  getting  on.'  Of  Burghley's 
'Advice '  the  motto  is  the  same;  the  execution,  if  I  rightly  remem- 
ber, is  in  a  gentler  and  more  loving  spirit.  Walsingham's  '  Manual ' 
I  did  not  read.  These  men  of  Elizabeth's  are  like  so  many  Romans 
or  Greeks.  Were  we  to  seek  for  the  Caesars,  the  Ciceros,  Pericles, 
Alcibiades  of  England,  we  should  find  them  nowhere  if  not  in  that 
era.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid,  or  worse  than  hid,  presented 
in  false  tinsel  colors,  originating  in  affected  ignorance  and  producing 
affected  ignorance?  Would  I  knew  rightly  about  it  and  could  pre- 
sent it  rightly  to  others.  For  'hear,  alas!  this  mournful  truth,  nor 
hear  it  with  a  frown.'  There  in  that  old  age  lies  the  only  true  poeti- 
cal literature  of  England.  The  poets  of  the  last  age  took  to  peda- 
gogy (Pope  and  his  school),  and  shrewd  men  they  were;  those  of  the 
present  age  to  ground  and  lofty  tumbling,  and  it  will  do  your  heart 
good  to  see  how  they  vault. 

"It  is  a  damnable  heresy  in  criticism  to  maintain  either  expressly 
or  implicitly  that  the  ultimate  object  of  poetry  is  sensation.  That 
of  cookery  is  such,  but  not  that  of  poetry.  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  the 
great  intellectual  restaurateur  of  Europe.  He  might  have  been  num- 
bered among  the  Conscript  Fathers.  He  has  chosen  the  worser  part, 
and  is  only  a  huge  Publicanus.  What  are  his  novels — any  one  of 
them  ?  A  bout  of  champagne,  claret,  port,  or  even  ale  drinking. 
Are  we  wiser,  better,  holier,  stronger?  No.  We  have  been  amused. 
Oh,  Sir  Walter,  thou  knowest  so  well  that  Virtus  laudatur  et  algctf 
Byron — good,  generous,  hapless  Byron!  And  yet  when  he  died  he 
was  only  a  Kraftmann  (Powerman  as  the  Germans  call  them).  Had 
he  lived  he  would  have  been  a  poet. 

"What  shall  I  say  of  Herder's  'Ideen  zur  Philosophic  der  Ge- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  217 

schichte  der  Menschheit?'  An  extraordinary  book,  yet  one  which 
by  no  means  wholly  pleaseth  me.  If  Herder  were  not  known  as  a 
devout  man  and  clerk,  his  book  would  be  reckoned  atheistical.  Ev- 
erything is  the  effect  of  circumstances  or  organization.  Er  war  was 
er  seyn  konnte.  The  breath  of  life  is  but  a  higher  intensation  of  light 
and  electricity.  This  is  surely  very  dubious,  to  say  no  worse  of  it. 
Theories  of  this  and  kindred  sorts  deform  his  whole  work — immor- 
tality not  shown  us,  but  left  us  to  be  hoped  for  and  to  be  believed  by 
faith.  This  world  sufficiently  explainable  without  reference  to  an- 
other. Strange  ideas  about  the  Bible  and  religion;  passing  strange 
we  think  them  for  a  clergyman.  Must  see  more  of  Herder.  He  is 
a  new  species  in  some  degree. 

"December  1. — Chateaubriand,  Friedrich  Schlegel,  Werner,  and 
that  class  of  man  among  ourselves,  are  one  of  the  distinctive  feat- 
ures of  the  time.  When  Babylon  the  Great  is  about  to  be  destroyed, 
her  doom  is  already  appointed  by  infidelity ;  and  religion,  too  much 
interwoven  with  that  same  Babylon,  has  not  yet  risen  on  her  mind, 
but  seems  rather,  only  seems,  as  if  about  to  perish  with  her.  A  cu- 
rious essay  might  be  written  on  the  customary  grounds  of  human 
belief.  Yes,  it  is  true.  The  decisions  of  reason  ( Vernunft)  are  su- 
perior to  those  of  understanding  (Verstand).  The  latter  vary  in 
every  age  (by  what  law?),  while  the  former  last  forever,  and  are  the 
same  in  all  forms  of  manhood. 

"Oh,  Parson  Alison,  what  an  essay  'On  Taste'  is  that  of  thine  ! 
Oh,  most  intellectual  Athenian,  what  accounts  are  those  you  give  us 
of  Morality  and  Faith,  and  all  that  really  makes  a  man  a  man?  Can 
you  believe  that  the  '  Beautiful '  and  '  Good '  have  no  deeper  root 
in  us  than  'association,'  'sympathy,'  'calculation?'  Then,  if  so, 
whence,  in  Heaven's  name,  comes  this  sympathy,  the  pleasure  of 
this  association,  the  obligancy  of  this  utility?  You  strive,  like  the 
witch  in  Hoffmann,  to  work  from  the  outside  inwards,  and  two 
inches  below  the  surface  you  will  never  get. 

"  The  philosophy  of  Voltaire  and  his  tribe  exhilarates  and  fills  us 
with  glorying  for  a  season — the  comfort  of  the  Indian  who  warmed 
himself  at  the  flames  of  his  bed. 

"A  clown  that  killed  his  ass  for  drinking  up  the  moon,  ut  lunam 
mundo  redderet.  In  Lud.  vines.  True  of  many  critics  of  sceptics. 
The  sceptics  have  not  drunk  up  the  moon,  but  the  reflection  of  it  in 
their  own  dirty  puddles;  therefore  need  not  be  slam. 

"January,  1827. — Read  Mendelssohn's  'Phaedon,'  a  half  transla- 
tion, half  imitation  of  Plato's  'Phaidon,'  or  last  thoughts  of  Socra- 
tes on  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  On  the  whole  a  good  book — 
and  convincing?  Ay  de  mi!  These  things,  I  fear,  are  not  to  be 
proved  but  believed;  not  seized  by  the  understanding,  but  by  faith. 
However,  it  is  something  to  remove  errors  if  not  introduce  truths  ; 
and  to  show  us  that  our  analogies  drawn  from  corporeal  things  are 
entirely  inapplicable  to  the  case.  For  the  present,  I  will  confess  it, 
I  scarce  see  how  we  can  reason  with  absolute  certainty  on  the  nat- 
ure or  fate  of  anything,  for  it  seems  to  me  we  only  see  our  own  per- 
ceptions and  their  relations ;  that  is  to  say,  our  soul  sees  only  its  own 
partial  reflex  and  manner  of  existing  and  conceiving. 

"  Sapientia  prima,  est  stultitid  caruisse.    Fully  as  well  thus,  Stulti- 


218  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

tiaprima  est  sapientid  caruisse:  the  case  of  all  materialist  metaphy- 
sicians, most  utilitarians,  moralists,  and  generally  all  negative  phi- 
losophers, by  whatever  name  they  call  themselves.  It  was  God  that 
said  Yes.  It  is  the  devil  that  forever  says  No. 

"Leibnitz  and  Descartes  found  all  truth  to  rest  on  our  seeing  and 
believing  in  God.  We  English  have  found  our  seeing  and  believing 
in  God  to  rest  on  all  truth,  and  pretty  work  we  have  made  of  it. 

"Is  not  political  economy  useful?  and  ought  not  Joseph  Hume 
and  Macculloch  to  be  honored  of  all  men  ?  My  cow  is  useful,  and 
I  keep  her  in  the  stable,  and  feed  her  with  oil-cake  and  '  chaff  and 
dregs,'  and  esteem  her  truly.  But  shall  she  live  in  my  parlor?  No; 
by  the  Fates,  she  shall  live  in  the  stall. 

"  Virtue  is  its  own  reward,  but  in  a  very  different  sense  than  you 
suppose,  Dr.  Gowkthrapple.  The  pleasure  it  brings!  Had  you  ever 
a  diseased  liver?  I  will  maintain,  and  appeal  to  all  competent 
judges,  that  no  evil  conscience  with  a  good  nervous  system  ever 
caused  a  tenth  part  of  the  misery  that  a  bad  nervous  system,  con- 
joined with  the  best  conscience  in  nature,  will  always  produce. 
What  follows,  then?  Pay  off  your  moralist,  and  hire  two  apothe- 
caries and  two  cooks.  Socrates  is  inferior  to  Captain  Barclay ;  and 
the  '  Enchiridion '  of  Epictetus  must  hide  its  head  before  Kitchener's 
'Peptic  Receipts.'  Heed  not  the  immortality  of  the  soul  so  long  as 
you  have  beefsteaks,  porter,  and — blue  pills.  Das  hole  der  Teufel! 
Virtue  is  its  own  reward,  because  it  needs  no  reward. 

"To  prove  the  existence  of  God,  as  Paley  has  attempted  to  do,  is 
like  lighting  a  lantern  to  seek  for  the  sun.  If  you  look  hard  by 
your  lantern,  you  may  miss  your  search. 

"An  historian  must  write,  so  to  speak,  in  lines;  but  every  event  is 
a  superficies.  Nay,  if  we  search  out  its  causes,  a  solid.  Hence  a  pri 
mary  and  almost  incurable  defect  in  the  art  of  narration,  which  only 
the  very  best  can  so  much  as  approximately  remedy.  N.B.  I  un- 
derstand this  myself.  I  have  known  it  for  years,  and  have  written 
it  now,  with  the  purpose,  perhaps,  of  writing  it  at  large  elsewhere. 

"The  courtesies  of  political  life  too  often  amount  to  little  more 
than  this,  '  Sir,  you  and  I  care  not  two  brass  farthings  the  one  for 
the  other.  We  have  and  can  have  no  friendship  for  each  other. 
Nevertheless,  let  us  enact  it  if  we  cannot  practise  it.  Do  you  tell 
so  many  lies,  and  I  shall  tell  so  many;  and  depend  on  it,  the  re- 
sult will  be  of  great  service  to  both.  For  is  not  this  December 
weather  very  cold  ?  And  though  our  grates  are  full  of  ice,  yet  if  you 
keep  a  picture  of  fire  before  yours,  and  I  another  before  mine,  will 
not  this  be  next  to  a  real  coal  and  wood  affair  ?' 

"Goethe  ('Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,'  ii.  14)  asserts  that  the  sub- 
lime is  natural  to  all  young  persons  and  peoples;  but  that  daylight 
(of  reason)  destroys  it  unless  it  can  unite  itself  with  the  Beautiful ; 
in  which  case  it  remains  indestructible — a  fine  observation." 

The  economies,  all  this  time,  had  to  be  attended  to,  and  the  pros- 
pect refused  to  brighten ;  and  this  did  not  mend  Carlyle's  spirits : 

"No  talent  for  the  market,  thought  I — none;  the  reverse  rather 
[so  he  says  of  himself,  looking  back  in  later  years].  Indeed,  I  was 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  219 

conscious  of  no  considerable  talent  whatever,  only  of  infinite  shy- 
ness and  abstruse  humor,  veiled  pride,  etc.,  and  looked  out  oftenest 
on  a  scene  that  was  abundantly  menacing  to  me.  What  folly  was 
in  all  this,  what  pusillanimity  and  begirarly  want  of  hope.  Nothing 
in  it  now  seems  respectable  except  that  of  '  unfitness  for  the  mar- 
ket,' etc.,  namely,  the  faith  I  had  in  me,  and  never  would  let  go, 
that  it  was  better  to  perish  than  do  dishonest  work,  or  do  one's  hon- 
est work  otherwise  than  well.  All  the  rest  I  may  now  blush  for, 
and  perhaps  pit}-;  blush  for  especially." 

One  piece  of  good-fortune  the  Garlyles  had.  He  had  some  friends 
in  Edinburgh  and  she  many;  and  he  was  thus  forced  out  of  himself. 
He  was  not  allowed  after  all  to  treat  visitors  as  "  nauseous  intrud- 
ers." His  wife  had  a  genius  for  small  evening  entertainments;  lit- 
tle tea-parties  such  as  in  after-days  the  survivors  of  us  remember  in 
Cheyne  Row,  over  which  she  presided  with  a  grace  all  her  own, 
and  where  wit  and  humor  were  to  be  heard  flashing  as  in  no  other 
house  we  ever  found  or  hoped  to  find.  These  began  in  Edinburgh; 
and  no  one  who  had  been  once  at  Comely  Bank  refused  a  second 
invitation.  Brewster  came  and  De  Quincey,  penitent  for  his  article 
on  "Meister,"  and  Sir  William  Hamilton  and  Wilson  (though  Wil- 
son for  some  reason  was  shy  of  Carlyle),  and  many  more. 

Carlyle,  finding  no  employment  offered  him,  was  trying  to  make  it. 
He  sketched  a  prospectus  for  a  literary  Annual  Register,  "a  work 
which  should  perform  for  the  intelligent  part  of  the  reading  world 
such  services  as  'Forget-me-Nots,'  '  Souvenirs, '  etc. ,  seemed  to  per- 
form for  the  idle  part  of  it."  "It  was  to  exhibit  a  compressed  view 
of  the  actual  progress  of  mind  in  its  various  manifestations  during 
the  past  year."  The  subjects  were  to  be  "biographical  portraits  of 
distinguished  persons  lately  deceased,"  "essays,  sketches,  miscel- 
lanies of  various  sorts,  illustrating  the  existing  state  of  literature, 
morals,  and  manners — on  which  points,"  Carlyle  thought,  "several 
things  might  be  adduced  not  a  little  surprising  to  the  optimists  and 
the  mob  of  gentlemen  that  wrote  with  ease."  "Thirdly,  critiques 
with  extracts  from  the  few  really  good  books  produced  in  England, 
Germany,  and  France,  an  essence  of  reviewing,  a  spirit  of  the  liter- 
ary produce  of  the  year."  "Fourthly,  a  similar  account  might  be 
given  of  works  of  art  and  discoveries  of  science. "  ' '  Fifthly,  though 
politics  were  to  be  excluded,  any  incidents,  misfortunes,  delusions, 
crimes,  or  heroic  actions  illustrative  of  the  existing  spiritual  condi- 
tion of  man,  might  be  collected  and  preserved."  Poetry  was  to  be 
admitted  if  it  could  be  had  good  of  its  kind,  only  "with  rigid  exclu- 
sion of  Odes  written  at ,  Verses  to ,  and  the  whole  genus  of 

Songs  by  a  Person  of  Quality." 

Pity  that  no  Edinburgh  or  London  publisher  could  see  his  way  to 
assisting  Carlyle  in  this  enterprise ;  for  he  would  have  written  most 


220  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  it  himself,  and  such  a  record  would  now  be  of  priceless  value. 
But  he  was  unknown  and  unprepossessing.  Neither  the  "Meister" 
nor  the  "  Schiller"  were  selling  as  well  as  had  been  expected.  The 
booksellers  hung  back,  and  they  judged  rightly,  perhaps,  for  their 
own  interests.  Carlyle,  like  all  really  original  writers,  had  to  create 
the  taste  which  could  appreciate  him.  The  scheme  came  to  noth- 
ing, and  his  small  capital  was  sloTntfy  melting  away. 

The  picture  of  the  Comely  Bank  life  given  in  the  "  Reminiscences  " 
may  be  supplemented  from  the  family  letters : 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. ' 

"Comely  Bank:  December  9, 1826. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  must  not  let  the  letter  go  without  adding  my 
'  Be  of  good  cheer. '  You  would  rejoice  to  see  how  much  better  my 
husband  is  since  we  came  hither.  And  we  are  really  very  happy. 
When  he  falls  on  some  work  we  shall  be  still  happier.  Indeed,  I 
should  be  very  stupid  or  very  thankless  if  I  did  not  congratulate  my- 
self every  hour  of  the  day  on  the  lot  which  it  has  pleased  Providence 
to  assign  me.  My  husband  is  so  kind,  so  in  all  respects  after  my 
own  heart.  I  was  sick  one  day,  and  he  nursed  me  as  well  as  my 
own  mother  could  have  done,  and  he  never  says  a  hard  word  to  me 
unless  I  richly  deserve  it.  We  see  great  numbers  of  people,  but  are 
always  most  content  alone.  My  husband  reads  then,  and  I  read  or 
work,  or  just  sit  and  look  at  him,  which  I  really  find  as  profitable  an 
employment  as  any  other.  God  bless  you  and  my  little  Jean,  whom 
I  hope  to  see  at  no  very  distant  date." 

Tlwmas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Comely  Bank:  January  2, 1827. 

"My  dear  Mother, — At  length  Tait  [the  publisher]  has  given  me 
an  opportunity  of  sending  off  the  weary  book,2  and  along  with  it  a 
word  or  two  to  assure  you  of  my  welfare.  The  '  German  Romance ' 
I  have  inscribed  to  my  father,  though  I  know  he  will  not  read  a  line 
of  it.  From  you,  however,  I  hope  better  things ;  and  at  any  rate  I 
have  "sent  you  a  book  which  I  am  sure  you  icill  read,  because  it  re- 
lates to  a  really  good  man,  and  one  engaged  in  a  cause  which  all 
men  must  reckon  good.  You  must  accept  this  '  Life  of  Henry  Mar- 
tyn '  as  a  New-year's  gift  from  me ;  and  while  reading  it  believe  that 
your  son  is  a  kind  of  missionary  in  his  way — not  to  the  heathen  of 
India,  but  to  the  British  heathen,  an  innumerable  class  whom  he 
would  gladly  do  something  to  convert  if  his  perplexities  and  mani- 
fold infirmities  would  give  him  leave.  .  .  .  We  must  wait  patiently 
and  study  to  do  what  service  we  can,  not  despising  the  day  of 
small  things,  but  meekly  trusting  that  hereafter  it  may  be  the  day 
of  greater. 

"I  am  beginning  to  be  very  instant  for  some  sort  of  occupation, 
which,  indeed,  is  my  chief  want  at  present.  I  must  stir  the  waters 

1  Being  a  postscript  to  a  letter  of  Carlyle's  own.  *  "  German  Romance. " 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  221 

and  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Many,  many  plans  I  have,  but  few  of 
them,  I  doubt,  are  likely  to  prove  acceptable  at  present;  the  times 
are  so  bad,  and  bookselling  trade  so  dull.  Something,  however,  I 
will  fix  upon,  for  work  is  as  essential  to  me  as  meat  and  drink.  Of 
money  we  arc  not  in  want.  The  other  morning  Mrs.  Welsh  sent  us 
a  letter  with  sixty  pounds  enclosed,  fearing  lest  cleanness  of  teeth 
might  be  ready  to  overtake  us.  I  thought  it  extremely  kind  and 
handsome ;  but  we  returned  the  cash  with  many  thanks,  wishing  to 
fight  our  own  battle  at  least  till  the  season  of  need  arrive. 

' '  I  have  not  said  a  word  yet  about  your  kind  Scotsbrig  package. 
It  was  all  right  and  in  order,  only  that  a  few  of  the  eggs  (the  box 
not  being  completely  stuffed  firm)  had  suffered  by  the  carriage. 
Most  part  of  them  Jane  has  already  converted  into  custards,  pan- 
cakes, or  the  other  like  ware ;  the  others  I  am  eating  and  find  excel- 
lent. A  woman  comes  here  weekly  with  a  fresh  stock  to  us,  and  I 
eat  just  one  daily,  the  price  being  IJxZ.  per  dozen.  Now,  my  dear 
mother,  you  must  make  Alick  write  to  me,  and  tell  me  all  that  is 
going  on  with  himself  or  you.  Wish  all  hands  a  happy  new  year 
in  my  name,  and  assure  them  all,  one  by  one,  that  I  will  love  them 
truly  all  my  days." 

•Thomas  Carlyle  to  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"Comely  Bank:  February  3. 

"Our  situation  at  Comely  Bank  continues  to  be  unexceptionable 
— nay,  in  many  points  truly  enviable.  Ill-health  is  not  harder  on  us 
than  usual,  and  all  other  things  are  about  as  one  could  wish  them. 
It  is  strange,  too,  how  one  gcTs  habituated  to  sickness.  I  bear  my 
pain  as  Christian  did  his  pack  in  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  strapped 
on  too  tightly  for  throwing  off;  but  the  straps  do  not  gall  as  they 
once  did;  in  fact,  I  believe  I  am  rather  better,  and  certainly  I  have 
not  been  happier  for  many  a  year.  Last  week,  too,  I  fairly  began 
— a  book.1  Heaven  only  knows  what  it  will  turn  to,  but  I  have 
sworn  to  finish  it.  You  shall  hear  about  it  as  it  proceeds,  but  as 

ict  we  are  only  got  through  the  first  chapter.  You  would  wonder 
ow  much  happier  steady  occupation  makes  us,  and  how  smoothly 
we  all  get  along.  Directly  after  breakfast  the  good  wife  and  the 
Doctor8  retire  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room,  a  little  place  all  fitted 
up  like  a  lady's  work-box,  where  a  spunk  of  fire  is  lit  for  the  fore- 
noon ;  and  I  meanwhile  sit  scribbling  and  meditating  and  wrestling 
with  the  powers  of  dulness,  till  one  or  two  o'clock,  when  I  sally 
forth  into  the  city  or  towards  the  sea-shore,  taking  care  only  to  be 
home  for  the  important  purpose  of  consuming  my  mutton-chop  at 
four.  After  dinner  we  all  read  learned  languages  till  coffee  (which 
we  now  often  take  at  night  instead  of  tea),  and  so  on  till  bedtime ; 
only  that  Jane  often  sews;  and  the  Doctor  goes  up  to  the  celestial 
globe,  studying  the  fixed  stars  through  an  upshoved  window,  and 
generally  comes  down  to  his  porridge  about  ten  with  a  nose  drop- 
ping at  the  extremity.  Thus  pass  our  days  in  our  trim  little  cot- 
tage, far  from  all  the  uproars  and  putrescences  (material  and  spirit- 

i  The  novel.  *  John  Carlyle,  now  staying  with  them. 


222  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ual)  of  the  reeky  town,  the  sound  of  which  we  hear  not,  and  only 
see  over  the  knowe  the  reflection  of  its  gas-light8  against  the  dusky 
sky,  and  bless  ourselves  that  we  have  neither  part  nor  lot  in  the 
matter.  Many  a  time  on  a  soft  mild  night  I  smoke  my  pipe  in  our 
little  flower-garden,  and  look  upon  all  this,  and  think  of  all  absent 
and  present  friends,  and  feel  that  I  have  good  reason  '  to  be  thank- 
ful I  am  not  in  Purgatory.' 

"Of  society  we  might  have  abundance.  People  come  on  foot, 
on  horseback,  and  even  in  wheeled  carriages  to  see  us,  most  of  whom 
Jane  receives  up -stairs,  and  despatches  with  assurances  that  the 
weather  is  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  and  hints  that  their  friendship 
passes  the  love  of  women.  We  receive  invitations  to  dinner  also ; 
but  Jane  has  a  circular — or  rather  two  circulars — one  for  those  she 
values,  and  one  for  those  she  does  not  value ;  and  one  or  the  other 
of  these  she  sends  in  excuse.  Thus  we  give  no  dinners  and  take 
none,  and  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven  design  to  persist  in  this  course 
so  long  as  we  shall  see  it  to  be  best.  Only  to  some  three  or  four 
chosen  people  we  give  notice  that  on  Wednesday  nights  we  shall 
always  be  at  home,  and  glad  if  they  will  call  and  talk  for  two  hours 
with  no  other  entertainment  but  a  cordial  welcome  and  a  cup  of  in-, 
nocent  tea.  Few  Wednesday  evenings  pass  accordingly  when  some 
decent  soul  or  other  does  not  step  in  and  take  his  place  among  us; 
and  we  converse  and  really,  I  think,  enjoy  ourselves  more  than  I 
have  witnessed  at  any  beef-eating  and  wine-bibbing  convention 
which  I  have  been  trysted  with  attending. 

"  I  had  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  have  in  my  pocket  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  Jeffrey  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  It  was  sent  to 
me  from  Procter  of  London.  One  of  these  days  I  design  presenting 
it,  and  you  shall  hear  the  result. " 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"21  Comely  Bank:  February  17. 

"  My  husband  is  busy  below-stairs,  and  I,  it  seems,  am  this  time  to 
be  the  writer — with  greater  willingness  than  ability,  indeed,  for  I 
have  been  very  stupid  these  some  days  with  cold.  But  you  must 
not  be  left  in  the  idea  that  we  are  so  neglectful  as  we  have  seemed. 
A  little  packet  was  actually  written  to  go  by  the  carrier  on  Wednes- 
day; when  the  rain  fell  and  the  wind  blew,  so  that  no  living  creature 
dared  venture  to  his  quarters.  The  Doctor  proceeded  thither  as 
early  as  was  good  for  his  health,  in  case  fortune  in  the  shape  of  bad 
weather,  or  whiskey,  had  interposed  delay.  By  that  time,  however, 
carrier,  boxes,  and  Bobby  were  all  far  on  the  road ;  so  you  see  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  write  by  post,  which  I  lose  no  time  in  doing. 

"And  now  let  me  thank  you  for  the  nice  eggs  and  butter,  which 
arrived  in  best  preservation  and  so  opportunely — just  as  I  was  lament- 
ing over  the  emptied  cans  as  one  who  had  no  hope.  Really  it  is 
most  kind  in  you  to  be  so  mindful  and  helpful  of  our  town  wants, 
and  most  gratifying  to  us  to  see  ourselves  so  cared  for. 

"  The  new  book  is  going  on  at  a  regular  rate,  and  I  would  fain 
persuade  myself  that  his  health  and  spirits  are  at  the  same  regular 
rate  improving.  More  contented  he  certainly  is  since  he  applied 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  223 

himself  to  this  task,  for  he  was  not  born  to  be  anything  but  miserable 
in  idleness.  Oh  that  he  were  indeed  well,  well  beside  me,  and  oc- 
cupied as  he  ought.  How  plain  and  clear  life  would  then  lie  before 
us!  I  verily  believe  there  would  not  be  such  a  happy  pair  of  people 
on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.  Yet  we  must  not  wish  this  too  ear- 
nestly. How  many  precious  things  do  we  not  already  possess  which 
others  have  not,  have  hardly  an  idea  of!  Let  us  enjoy  them  then, 
and  bless  God  that  we  are  permitted  to  enjoy  them  rather  than  im- 
portune his  goodness  with  vain  longing  for  more.  Indeed  we  had  a 
most  quiet  and  even  happy  life  here.  Within-doors  all  is  warm,  is 
swept  and  garnished,  and  without  the  country  is  no  longer  winter- 
like,  but  beginning  to  be  gay  and  green.  Many  pleasant  people  come 
to  see  us;  and  such  of  our  visitors  as  are  not  pleasant  people  have  at 
least  the  good  effect  of  enhancing  the  pleasures  to  us  of  being  alone. 
Alone  we  are  never  weary.  If  I  have  not  Jean's  enviable  gift  of 
talking,  I  am  at  least  among  the  best  listeners  in  the  kingdom,  and 
my  husband  has  always  something  interesting  and  instructive  to  say. 
Then  we  have  books  to  read — alt  sorts  of  them,  from  Scott's  Bible 
down  to  novels — and  I  have  sewing-needles,  and  purse-needles,  and 
all  conceivable  implements  for  ladies'  work.  There  is  a  piano,  too, 
for  'soothing  the  savage  breast'  when  one  cares  for  its  charms;  but 
I  am  sorry  to  say  neither  my  playing  nor  my  singing  seems  to  give 
Mr.  C.  much  delight.  I  console  myself,  however,  with  imputing  the 
blame  to  his  want  of  taste  rather  than  to  my  want  of  skill. 

"  So  Jean  is  not  coming  yet.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  it;  but  I  hope 
the  time  is  coming.  In  the  mean  time  she  must  be  a  good  girl,  and 
read  as  much  as  she  has  time  for,  and  above  all  things  cultivate  this 
talent  of  speech.  It  is  my  husband's  worst  fault  to  me  that  I  will 
not  or  cannot  speak.  Often  when  he  has  talked  for  an  hour  without 
answer,  he  will  beg  for  some  signs  of  life  on  my  part,  and  the  only 
sign  I  can  give  is  a  little  kiss.  Well,  that  is  better  than  nothing ; 
don't  you  think  so?" 

She  might  well  say,  "He  has  talked  for  an  hour  without  answer." 
It  was  not  easy  to  answer  Carlyle.  Already  it  seems  his  power  of 
speech,  unequalled  so  far  as  my  experience  goes  by  that  of  any  other 
man,  had  begun  to  open  itself.  "Carlyle  first,  and  all  the  rest  no- 
where," was  the  description  of  him  by  one  of  the  best  judges  in  Lon- 
don, when  speaking  of  the  great  talkers  of  the  day.  His  vast  reading, 
his  minute  observation,  his  miraculously  retentive  memory,  gave  him 
something  valuable  to  say  on  every  subject  which  could  be  raised. 
What  he  took  into  his  mind  was  dissolved  and  recrystallized  into 
original  combinations  of  his  own.  His  writing,  too,  was  as  fluent 
as  his  speech.  His  early  letters — even  the  most  exquisitely  finished 
sentences  of  them — are  in  an  even  and  beautiful  hand,  without  eras- 
ure or  alteration  of  a  phrase.  Words  flowed  from  him  with  a  com- 
pleteness of  form  which  no  effort  could  improve.  When  he  was 
excited  it  was  like  the  eruption  of  a  volcano,  thunder  and  lightning, 
hot  stones  and  smoke  and  ashes.  He  had  a  natural  tendency  to  ex- 


224  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

aggeration,  and  although  at  such  times  his  extraordinary  metaphors 
and  flashes  of  Titanesque  humor  made  him  always  worth  listening 
to,  he  was  at  his  best  when  talking  of  history  or  poetry  or  biography, 
or  of  some  contemporary  person  or  incident  which  had  either  touched 
his  sympathy  or  amused  his  delicate  sense  of  absurdity.  His  laugh 
was  from  his  whole  nature,  voice,  eyes,  and  even  his  whole  body. 
And  there  was  never  any  malice  in  it.  His  own  definition  of  humor, 
"  a  genial  sympathy  with  the  under  side,"  was  the  definition  also  of 
his  own  feeling  about  all  things  and  all  persons,  when  it  was  himself 
that  was  speaking,  and  not  what  he  called  the  devil  that  was  occa- 
sionally in  possession.  In  the  long  years  that  I  was  intimate  with 
him  I  never  heard  him  tell  a  malicious  story  or  say  a  malicious  word 
of  any  human  being.  His  language  was  sometimes  like  the  rolling 
of  a  great  cathedral  organ,  sometimes  like  the  softest  flute-notes,  sad 
or  playful  as  the  mood  or  the  subject  might  be ;  and  you  listened — 
threw  in,  perhaps,  an  occasional  word  to  show  that  you  went  along 
with  him,  but  you  were  simply  charmed,  and  listened  on  without 
caring  to  interrupt.  Interruption,  indeed,  would  answer  little  pur- 
pose, for  Carlyle  did  not  bear  contradiction  any  better  than  Johnson. 
Contradiction  would  make  him  angry  and  unreasonable.  He  gave 
you  a  full  picture  of  what  was  in  his  own  mind,  and  you  took  it 
away  with  you  and  reflected  on  it. 

This  singular  faculty — which,  from  Mrs.  Carlyle's  language,  ap- 
pears to  have  been  shared  in  some  degree  by  his  sister  Jean — had 
been  the  spell  which  had  won  his  wife,  as  Othello's  tales  of  his  advent- 
ures won  the  heart  of  Desdemona ;  and  it  was  already  brightening 
the  evenings  at  Comely  Bank.  She  on  her  side  gives  an  imperfect 
idea  of  her  own  occupations  when  she  describes  herself  as  busy  with 
needle-work  and  books  and  the  piano.  They  kept  but  one  servant, 
and  neither  she  nor  her  husband  could  endure  either  dirt  or  disorder, 
while  Carlyle's  sensitive  stomach  required  a  more  delicate  hand  in 
the  kitchen  than  belonged  to  a  maid  of  all  work.  The  days  of  the 
loaf — her  first  baking  adventure,  which  she  watched  as  Benvenuto 
Cellini  watched  his  "  Perseus  " — were  not  yet.  Edinburgh  bread  was 
eatable,  and  it  was  not  till  they  were  at  Craigenputtock  that  she  took 
charge  of  the  oven.  But  Carlyle  himself  has  already  described  her 
as  making  the  damaged  Scotsbrig  eggs  into  custards  and  puddings. 
"When  they  married,"  Miss  Jewsbury  says,  "she  had  determined 
that  he  should  never  write  for  money,  but  only  when  he  had  some- 
thing to  say,  and  that  she  would  make  whatever  money  he  gave  her 
answer  for  all  needful  purposes.  She  managed  so  well  that  comfort 
was  never  absent  from  her  house,  and  no  one  looking  on  could  have 
guessed  whether  they  were  rich  or  poor.  Whatever  she  had  to  do 
she  did  with  a  peculiar  personal  grace  that  gave  a  charm  to  the  most 
prosaic  details.  But  she  had  to  put  her  hand  to  tasks  of  the  rudest 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  235 

kind.  No  one  who  in  later  years  saw  her  lying  on  the  sofa  in  bro- 
ken health  and  languor  would  guess  the  amount  of  energetic  hard 
work  she  had  done  in  her  life.  Her  insight  was  like  witchcraft. 
When  she  was  to  make  her  first  pudding  she  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  locked  the  door  on  herself,  having  got  the  servant  out  of  the 
road.  It  was  to  be  such  a  pudding — not  just  a  common  pudding  but 
something  special,  and  it  was  good,  being  made  with  care  by  weight 
and  measure." 

Thus  prettily  Carlyle's  married  life  began,  the  kind  friends  at 
Scotsbrig  sending  weekly  supplies  by  the  carrier.  But  even  with 
Mrs.  Carlyle  to  husband  them  the  visible  financial  resources  were 
ebbing  and  must  soon  come  to  low  water;  and  on  this  side  the  pros- 
pect resolutely  refused  to  mend.  The  novel  was  a  failure,  and  event- 
ually had  to  be  burnt.  The  hope  which  had  vaguely  lingered  of 
some  regular  and  salaried  appointment  faded  away.  Overtures  of 
various  kinds  to  London  publishers  had  met  with  no  acceptance. 
"German  Romance"  was  financially  a  failure  also,  and  the  Edin- 
burgh publishers  would  make  no  future  ventures.  Under  these 
conditions  it  is  not  wonderful  that  (resolved  as  he  was  never  to  get 
into  money  difficulties)  Carlyle's  mind  reverted  before  long  to  his 
old  scheme  of  settling  at  Craigenputtock.  He  no  longer  thought  of 
turning  farmer  himself.  His  wife's  ridicule  would  have  saved  him 
from  any  rash  enterprise  of  that  kind.  But  his  brother  Alick  was 
still  willing  to  undertake  the  farm,  and  to  make  a  rent  out  of  it. 
For  himself  he  looked  to  it  only  as  a  cheap  and  quiet  residence. 
His  Hoddam  experience  had  taught  him  the  superior  economy  of  a 
country  life.  At  Craigenputtock  he  could  have  his  horse,  pure  air, 
milk  diet,  all  really  or  theoretically  essential  to  his  health.  Edin- 
burgh society  he  considered  was  of  no  use  to  him;  practical  Edin- 
burgh, he  was  equally  sure,  would  do  nothing  for  him ;  and  away 
on  the  moors  "iie  could  go  on  with  his  literature  and  with  his  life- 
task  generally  in  the  absolute  solitude  and  pure  silence  of  nature, 
with  nothing  but  loving  and  helpful  faces  round  him  under  clearly 
improved  omens."  To  his  wife  he  did  recognize  that  the  experi- 
ment would  be  unwelcome.  She  had  told  him  before  her  marriage 
that  she  could  not  live  a  month  at  Craigenputtock  with  an  angel, 
while  at  Comely  Bank  she  had  little  to  suffer  and  something  to 
enjoy. 

"Her  modest  days  [he  says],  which  never  demanded  much  to 
make  them  happy,  were  beginning  to  have  many  little  joys  and 
amusements  of  their  own  in  that  bright  scene,  and  she  would  have 
to  change  it  for  one  of  the  loneliest,  mooriest,  and  dullest  in  nature. 
To  her  it  was  a  great  sacrifice,  if  to  me  it  was  the  reverse ;  but  at  no 
moment,  even  by  a  look,  did  she  ever  say  so.  Indeed  I  think  she 
never  felt  so  at  all.  She  would  have  gone  to  Nova  Zembla  with 


326  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

me,  and  found  it  the  right  place  had  benefit  to  me  or  set  purpose  of 
mine  lain  there." 

Only  one  recommendation  Craigenputtock  could  have  had  to  Mrs. 
Carlyle — that  it  was  her  own  ancestral  property,  and  that  her  father 
had  been  born  there.  Happily  her  mother,  when  the  scheme  was 
mentioned  to  her,  approved  heartily.  Templand  was  but  fifteen 
miles  from  Craigenputtock  gate,  not  more  than  a  morning's  ride, 
and  frequent  meetings  could  be  looked  forward  to.  The  present 
tenant  of  Craigenputtock  was  in  arrears  with  his  rent,  and  was  al- 
lowing house  and  fences  to  go  to  ruin.  Some  change  or  other  had 
become  indispensable,  and  Mrs.  Welsh  was  so  anxious  to  have  the 
Carlyles  there  that  she  undertook  to  put  the  rooms  in  repair  and  to 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  move. 

After  a  week  or  two  of  consideration  Carlyle  joined  his  brother 
Alick  in  the  middle  of  April  at  Dumfries,  Mrs.  Welsh  paying  her 
daughter  a  visit  during  his  absence.  They  drove  out  together  and 
examined  the  place,  and  the  result  was  that  the  tenant  was  to  go, 
while  Carlyle  was  to  enter  into  possession  at  Whitsuntide ;  the  house 
was  to  be  made  habitable,  and,  unless  some  unforeseen  good-luck 
should  befall  Carlyle  meanwhile,  he  and  his  wife  were  to  follow 
when  it  was  ready  to  receive  them.  One  pretty  letter  from  her  has 
been  preserved,  which  was  written  to  her  husband  when  he  was  ab- 
sent on  this  expedition : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Comely  Bank:  April,  1827. 

' '  Dear,  Dear — Cheap,  Cheap, ' — I  met  the  postman  yesterday  morn- 
ing, and  something  bade  me  ask  if  there  were  any  letters.  Imagine 
my  agitation  when  he  gave  me  yours  four-and-twenty  hours  before 
the  appointed  time.  I  was  so  glad  and  so  frightened,  so  eager  to 
know  the  whole  contents  that  I  could  hardly  make  out  any  part.  In 
the  little  tobacconist's,  where  1  was  fain  to  seek  a  quiet  place,  I  did 
at  length,  with  much  heart-beating,  get  through  the  precious  paper, 
and  found  that  you  still  loved  me  pretty  well,  and  that  the  '  Craig  o' 
Putta '  was  still  a  hope ;  as  also  that  if  you  come  not  back  to  poor 
Goody  on  Saturday  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  will.2  Ah !  nor  yet 
will  it  be  for  want  of  the  most  fervent  prayers  to  Heaven  that  a 
longing  Goody  can  put  up;  for  I  am  sick — sick  to  the  heart — of 
this  absence,  which  indeed  I  can  only  bear  in  the  faith  of  its  being 
brief.  .  .  . 

"Alas,  the  poor  Craig  o'  Putta!  What  a  way  it  is  in  with  these 
good-for-nothing  sluggards !  I  need  not  recommend  to  you  to  do  all 
that  is  possible — nay,  '  to  do  the  impossible' — to  get  them  out.  Even 
suppose  we  did  not  wish  the  place  for  ourselves,  it  would  be  misera- 

1  "Cheap!  cheap!"  was  an  answer  with  which  Carlyle  had  replied  once  to  some 
endearment  of  hers. 
3  "Goody  "  was  Carlyle's  name  for  his  wife  at  this  time. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  227 

ble  to  consign  it  to  such  hands.  You  will  use  all  fair  means,  there- 
fore, to  recover  it  from  them — that  is,  all  honest  means;  for,  as  to 
the  tenderness  and  delicacy  which  would  have  been  becoming  to- 
wards a  worthy  tenant,  it  were  here  out  of  place.  I  shall  be  very 
anxious  until  I  hear  from  you  again.  Would  to  Heaven  the  business 
was  settled,  and  in  the  way  we" wish!  These  perplexities  and  sus- 
penses are  not  good  for  bilious  people:  indeed,  they  are  making  me 
positively  ill.  How  often  since  you  went  have  I  been  reminded  of 
your  figure  about  the  hot  ashes  (?),  and  my  head  has  ached  more  con- 
tinuously than  at  any  time  these  six  months.  But  health  and  spirits 
will  come  back  when  my  husband  comes  back  with  good  news — or 
rather,  when  he  comes  back  at  all,  whether  his  news  be  good  or 
bad.  .  .  .  To  be  separated  from  you  one  week  is  frightful  as  a  fore- 
taste of  what  it  might  be,  but  I  will  not  think  of  this  if  I  can  help 
it;  and  after  all  why  should  I  think  of  life  without  you?  Is  not  my 
being  interwoven  with  yours  so  close  that  it  can  have  no  separate  ex- 
istence? Yes,  surely,  we  will  live  together  and  die  together  and  be 
together  through  all  eternity.  But  you  will  be  calling  this  'French 
sentimentality,'  I  fear;  and  even  'the  style  of  mockery  is  better  than 
that.' 

' '  I  have  not  been  altogether  idle  since  we  parted,  though  I  threat- 
ened I  would  take  to  bed.  I  have  finished  my  review,  the  represen- 
tation of  female  character  in  the  Greek  poets,  and  the  comparison 
between  Caesar  and  Alexander,  with  all  that  I  could  understand  of 
the  '  Friend ;'  over  and  above  which  I  have  transacted  a  good  deal 
of  shaping  and  sewing,  the  result  of  which  will  be  complete,  I  hope, 
by  the  day  of  your  return,  and  fill  you  with  '  weender  and  amaze- 
ment.'1 Gilbert  Burns  is  gone.  Mr.  Brodie  told  us  of  his  death 
last  week.  Besides  him,  Mrs.  Binnie,  the  Bruce  people,  and  Mrs. 
Aitken,  we  have  had  no  visitors,  and  I  have  paid  no  visits.  Last 
night  I  was  engaged  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  but  I  wrapped  a  piece  of  flannel 
about  my  throat  and  made  my  mother  carry  an  apology  of  cold. 
But  I  may  cut  short  these  insipidities.  My  kindest  love  to  all,  from 
the  wee'est  up  to  Lord  Moon."8 

Here  is  Carlyle's  answer,  coming  from  his  best,  his  real  self — the 
true  Carlyle,  which  always  lay  below,  however  irritable  or  moody 
the  surface : 

To  the  Wife. 

"Scotsbrig:  April  17, 1827. 

"  Not  unlike  what  the  drop  of  water  from  Lazarus's  finger  might 
have  been  to  Dives  in  the  flame  was  my  dearest  Goody's  letter  to 
her  husband  yesterday  afternoon.  Blacklock3  had  retired  to  the 
bank  for  fifteen  minutes;  the  whirlwind  was  sleeping  for  that  brief 
season,  and  I  smoking  my  pipe  in  grim  repose,  when  Alick  came 
back  with  your  messenger.  No;  I  do  not  love  you  in  the  least — 

1  "  Report  of  little  Jean's  of  some  preacher  wlio  had  profusely  employed  that  locu- 
tion, pronounced  as  here. — T.  C."  This  is  one  of  the  letters  specially  annotated  by  Car- 
lyle for  publication. 

*  "The  lx>rd  Moon  is  brother  John  =  the  Lord  Mohun  of  Hamilton's  tragic  ballad, 
which  is  still  sung  in  those  parta  Epithet  from  brother  Alirk  indicating  breadth  of 
lace.— T.  C."  3  The  outgoing  tenant  of  Craigenputtock. 


228  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

only  a  little  sympathy  and  admiration,  and  a  certain  esteem.    Nothing 
more  !  oh  my  dear  best  wee  woman — but  not  a  word  of  all  this. 

' '  Such  a  day  I  never  had  in  my  life,  but  it  is  all  over  and  well, 
and  now  '  Home,  brothers,  home !' 

"  Oh,  Jeannie,  how  happy  shall  we  be  in  this  Craig  o'  Putta!  Not 
that  I  look  for  an  Arcadia  or  a  Lubberland  there;  but  we  shall  sit 
under  our  bramble  and  our  saugh  tree,  and  none  to  make  us  afraid; 
and  my  little  wife  will  be  there  forever  beside  me,  and  I  shall  be 
well  and  blessed,  and  '  the  latter  end  of  that  man  will  be  better  than 
the  beginning.' 

"Surely  I  shall  learn  at  length  to  prize  the  pearl  of  great  price 
which  God  has  given  to  me  unworthy.  Surely  I  already  know  that 
to  me  the  richest  treasure  of  this  sublunary  life  has  been  awarded — 
the  heart  of  my  own  noble  Jane.  Shame  on  me  for  complaining, 
sick  and  wretched  though  I  be.  Bourbon  and  Braganza,  when  I 
think  of  it,  are  but  poor  men  to  me.  Oh  Jeannie !  oh  my  wife !  we 
will  never  part,  never  through  eternity  itself;  but  I  will  love  thee 
and  keep  thee  in  my  heart  of  hearts !  that  is,  unless  I  grow  a  very 
great  fool — which,  indeed,  this  talk  doth  somewhat  betoken. 

"God  bless  thee  !    Ever  thine,  T.  CARLYLE." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A. D.  1827.     MI.  32. 

ALEXANDER  CARLYLE,  with  his  sister  Mary,  went  into  occupation 
of  Craigenputtock  at  Whitsuntide,  1827.  His  brother  had  intended 
to  join  him  before  the  end  of  the  summer,  but  at  this  moment  affairs 
in  Edinburgh  began  to  brighten,  and  took  a  turn  which  seemed  at 
one  time  likely  to  lead  into  an  entirely  new  set  of  conditions.  Car- 
lyle  had  mentioned  that  he  had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Jeffrey. 
He  had  delayed  presenting  it,  partly,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the  ab- 
solute silence  with  which  some  years  before  Jeffrey  had  received 
a  volunteered  contribution  from  him  for  the  Edinburgh  Review. 
Irving  had  urged  the  experiment,  and  it  had  been  made.  The  MS. 
was  not  only  not  accepted,  but  was  neither  acknowledged  nor  re- 
turned. Carlyle  naturally  hesitated  before  making  another  advance 
where  he  had  been  repulsed  so  absolutely.  He  determined,  how- 
ever, shortly  after  his  return  from  his  Craigenputtock  visit,  to  try 
the  experiment.  He  called  on  the  great  man  and  was  kindly  re- 
ceived. Jeffrey  was  struck  with  him ;  did  not  take  particularly  to 
his  opinions;  but  perceived  at  once,  as  he  frankly  said  to  him,  that 
"he  was  a  man  of  original  character  and  right  heart, "and  that  he 
would  "be  proud  and  happy  to  know  more  of  him."  A  day  or  two 
after  he  called  with  Mrs.  Jeffrey  at  Comely  Bank,  and  was  as  much 
— perhaps  even  more — attracted  by  the  lady  whom  he  found  there, 
and  whom  he  discovered  to  be  some  remote  Scotch  kinswoman.  It 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  229 

was  the  beginning  of  a  close  and  interesting  intimacy,  entered  upon, 
on  Jeffrey's  part,  with  a  genuine  recognition  of  Carlyle's  qualities 
and  a  desire  to  be  useful  to  him,  which,  no  doubt,  would  have  as- 
sumed a  practical  form  had  he  found  his  new  friend  amenable  to 
influence  or  inclined  to  work  in  harness  with  the  party  to  which 
Jeffrey  belonged.  But  Jeffrey  was  a  Benthamite  on  the  surface,  and 
underneath  an  Epicurean,  with  a  good-humored  contempt  for  enthu- 
siasm and  high  aspirations.  Between  him  and  a  man  so  "  dreadfully 
in  earnest "  as  Carlyle  there  could  be  little  effective  communion, 
and  Carlyle  soon  ceased  to  hope,  what  at  first  he  had  allowed  him- 
self to  expect,  that  Jeffrey  might  be  the  means  of  assisting  him  into 
some  independent  situation. 

The  immediate  effect  of  the  acquaintance,  however,  was  Carlyle's 
admission,  freely  offered  by  the  editor,  into  the  Edinburgh  Review,  a 
matter  just  then  of  infinite  benefit  to  him,  drawing  him  off  from  di- 
dactic novels  into  writing  the  series  of  essays  now  so  well  known  as 
the  ' '  Miscellanies, "  in  which  he  tried  his  wings  for  his  higher  flights, 
and  which  in  themselves  contain  some  of  his  finest  thoughts  and 
most  brilliant  pictures.  His  first  contribution  was  to  be  for  the 
number  immediately  to  appear,  and  Jeffrey  was  eager  to  receive  it. 

Carlyle  was  not  particularly  elated,  and  mentions  the  subject 
slightly  in  a  letter  to  his  brother  Alick  about  the  establishment  at 
Craigenputtock : 

To  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"Comely  Bank:  June  3. 

"It  gave  us  much  pleasure  to  find  that  you  had  in  very  deed  made 
a  settlement  in  your  new  abode,  and  were  actually  boiling  your  pot 
at  the  Craig  o'  Putta  under  circumstances  however  unpropitious. 
Your  tears  for  parting  (from  Scotsbrig)  will  scarcely  be  dried  yet, 
but  in  a  little  while  you  will  look  upon  this  movement  in  its  real 
light,  not  as  a  parting,  but  as  a  truly  blessed  reunion  for  us  all, 
where,  I  hope  and  believe,  many  good  days  are  in  store  for  every 
one  of  us.  It  will  not  be  long  till  you  have  scrubbed  up  the  old 
Craig,  put  in  the  broken  slates,  and  burnt  or  buried  the  rotten  rags 
of  the  late  housewife,  who,  I  am  told,  is  indeed  a  slattern,  and  not 
only  so,  but  a  drunkard,  which  is  far  worse.  Mary's  nimble  fingers 
and  an  orderly  head  will  have  introduced  new  arrangements  into 
the  niansion ;  things  will  begin  to  go  their  usual  course,  and  the 
mavis  and  tomtit  will  no  longer  sing  to  sad  hearts.  Poor  Mary! 
Be  good  to  her  in  this  her  first  removal  from  home,  and  remember 
that  you  are  not  only  a  brother  to  her,  but,  as  it  were,  a  husband 
and  father. 

"As  to  the  house,  I  think  with  you  it  were  better  if  we  all  saw  it 
before  the  plans  were  settled.  Jane  and  I  are  both  for  coming  down 
shortly.  We  shall  not  be  long  in  seeing  you.  The  only  thing  that 
absolutely  detains  me  is  a  little  article  which  I  have  to  write  before 
the  end  of  this  month  for  the  Edinburgh  Retitic — a  very  brief  one — 
which  I  begin  to-morrow." 
I.— 11 


230  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

To  his  brother  John  he  was  more  explicit : 

To  John  CarlyU. 

"Comely  Bank:  June  4. 

"Of  my  own  history  since  I  wrote  last  I  need  mention  only  one 
or  two  particulars.  Everything  goes  its  course.  I  fight  with  dul- 
ness  and  bile  in  the  forenoons  as  of  old;  I  still  walk  diligently,  talk 
de  omni  scibili  when  I  can  find  fit  or  unfit  audience,  and  so  live  on 
in  the  old  light  and  shadow  fashion  much  as  you  knew  me  before, 
only  with  rather  more  comfort  and  hope  than  with  less.  Our  ev&n- 
ing  parties  continue  their  modest  existence.  Last  Wednesday  we 
had  Malcolm1  and  one  Paterson,  said  to  be  '  the  hope  of  the  Scot- 
tish Church,'  a  very  feckless  young  man  so  far  as  externals  go,  for 
his  voice  is  the  shrillest  treble,  he  wears  spectacles,  and  would  scarcely 
weigh  six  stone  avoirdupois  ;  but  evidently  shrewd,  vehement,  mod- 
est, and,  on  the  whole,  well  gifted  and  conditioned.  .  .  . 

"One  day  I  resolutely  buckled  myself  up  and  set  forth  to  the  Par- 
liament House  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  our  Reviewer  (Jeffrey). 
The  little  Jewel  of  Advocates  was  at  his  post.  I  accosted  him,  and, 
with  a  little  explanation,  was  cheerfully  recognized.  '  The  Article 
— where  is  the  Article  ?'  seemed  to  be  the  gist  of  his  talk  to  me :  for 
he  was,  to  all  appearance,  anxious  that  I  would  undertake  the  task 
of  Germanizing  the  public,  and  ready  even  to  let  me  do  it  con  amore, 
so  I  did  not  treat  the  whole  earth  not  vet  Germanized  as  '  a  parcel  of 
blockheads, '  which  surely  seemed  a  fair  enough  request.  We  walked 
to  his  lodgings  discussing  these  matters.  Two  days  after,  having 
revolved  the  thing,  I  met  him  again  with  notice  that  I  would  '  under- 
take.' The  next  number  of  the  Review,  it  appeared,  was  actually  in 
the  press,  and  to  be  printed  off  before  the  end  of  June,  so  that  no  large 
article  could  find  place  there  till  the  succeeding  quarter.  However, 
I  engaged,  as  it  were  for  paving  the  way,  to  give  him  in  this  present 
publication  some  little  short  paper,  I  think  on  the  subject  of  Jean 
Paul,  though  that  is  not  quite  settled  with  myself  yet.  And  thus, 
oh  Jack,  thou  see'st  me  occupied  with  a  new  trade  !  On  the  whole 
I  am  rather  glad  of  this  adventure,  for  I  think  it  promises  to  be  the 
means  of  a  pleasant  connection.  Certainly  Jeffrey  is  by  much  the 
most  lovable  of  all  the  literary  men  I  have  seen;  and  he  seemed 
ready,  nay,  desirous,  if  time  would  but  permit,  to  cultivate  a  farther 
intimacy." 

Jean  Paul  was  decided  on,  to  be  followed  in  the  autumn  by  a  more 
elaborate  article  on  the  general  state  of  German  literature.  It  was 
written  at  once,  and  forms  the  first  of  the  "Miscellaneous  Essays  "  in 
the  collected  edition  of  Carlyle's  works.  Carlyle's  "style,"  which 
has  been  a  rock  of  offence  to  so  many  people,  has  been  attributed  to 
his  study  of  Jean  Paul.  No  criticism  could  be  worse  founded.  His 
style  shaped  itself  as  he  gathered  confidence  in  his  own  powers,  and 
had  its  origin  in  his  father's  house  in  Annandale.  His  mode  of  ex- 
pressing himself  remained  undistinguished  by  its  special  character- 

1  See  "Reminiscences,"  vol.  i.  p.  266. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  231 

till  lie  had  ceased  to  occupy  himself  with  the  German  poets. 
Of  his  present  undertaking  Carlyle  says : 

"Perhaps  it  was  little  De  Quincey's  reported  admiration  of  Jean 
Paul — Goethe  a  mere  corrupted  pygmy  to  him — that  first  put  me 
upon  trying  to  be  orthodox  and  admire.  I  dimly  felt  poor  De 
Quincey,  who  passed  for  a  mighty  seer  in  such  things,  to  have  ex- 
aggerated, and  to  know,  perhaps,  but  little  of  either  Jean  Paul  or 
Goethe.  However,  I  held  on  reading  and  considerably  admiring 
Jean  Paul  on  my  own  score,  though  always  with  something  of 
secret  disappointment.  I  could  now  wish,  perhaps,  that  I  hadn't. 
My  first  favorite  books  had  been  '  Hudibras'  and  '  Tristram  Shandy.' 
Everybody  was  proclaiming  it  such  a  feat  for  a  man  to  have  wit,  to 
have  humor  above  all.  There  was  always  a  small  secret  something 
of  affectation,  which  is  not  now  secret  to  me,  in  that  part  of  my 
affairs.  As  to  my  poor  style,  Edward  Irving  and  his  admiration  of 
the  old  Puritans  and  Elizabethans — whom  at  heart  I  never  could 
entirely  adore,  though  trying  hard — his  and  everybody's  doctrine  on 
that  head  played  a  much  more  important  part  than  Jean  Paul  upon 
it.  And  the  most  important  by  far  was  that  of  nature,  you  would 
perhaps  say,  if  you  had  ever  heard  my  father  speak,  or  my  mother, 
and  her  inward  melodies  of  heart  and  voice. " 

Carlyle's  acquaintance  with  Wilson — Christopher  North — had  been 
slight,  Wilson,  perhaps,  dreading  his  Radicalism.  In  the  course  of 
the  summer,  however,  accident  threw  them  more  closely  together, 
and  one  of  their  meetings  is  thus  described: 

To  Jolin  Carlyle, 

"21  Comely  Bank. 

' '  Last  night  I  supped  with  John  Wilson,  Professor  of  Moral  Phi- 
losophy here,  author  of  the  'Isle  of  Palms,'  etc.,  a  man  of  the  most 
fervid  temperament,  fond  of  all  stimulating  things,  from  tragic 
poetry  down  to  whiskey  punch.  He  snuffed  and  smoked  cigars 
and  drank  liquors,  and  talked  in  the  most  indescribable  style.  It  was 
at  the  lodging  of  one  John  Gordon,  a  young  very  good  man  from 
Kirkcudbright,  who  sometimes  comes  here.  Daylight  came  on  us 
before  we  parted  ;  indeed,  it  was  towards  three  o'clock  as  the  Pro- 
fessor and  I  walked  home,  smoking  as  we  went.  I  had  scarcely 
either  eaten  or  drunk,  being  a  privileged  person,  but  merely  enjoyed 
the  strange  volcanic  eruptions  of  our  poet's  convivial  genius.  He 
is  a  broad  sincere  man  of  six  feet,  with  long  dishevelled  flax-colored 
hair,  and  two  blue  eyes  keen  as  an  eagle's.  Now  and  then  he  sunk 
into  a  brown-study,  and  seemed  dead  in  the  eye  of  law.  About 
two  o'clock  he  was  sitting  in  this  state  smoking  languidly,  his  nose 
begrimed  with  snuff,  his  face  hazy  and  inert,  when  all  at  once  flash- 
ing into  existence,  he  inquired  of  John  Gordon,  with  an  irresistible 
air,  "I  hope,  Mr.  Gordon,  you  don't  believe  in  universal  damna- 
tion ?"  It  was  wicked,  but  all  hands  burst  into  inextinguishable 
laughter.  But  I  expect  to  see  Wilson  in  a  more  philosophic  key  ere- 
long ;  he  has  promised  to  call  on  me,  and  is,  on  the  whole,  a  man  I 


232  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

should  like  to  know  better.     Geniuses  of  any  sort,  especially  of  so 
kindly  a  sort,  are  so  very  rare  in  this  world." 

Another  and  yet  brighter  episode  of  this  summer  was  a  second 
and  far  more  remarkable  letter  from  Goethe.  Carlyle  had  sent  the 
"Life  of  Schiller  "  to  Weimar,  and  afterwards  the  volumes  of ' ' Ger- 
man Romance."  They  were  acknowledged  with  a  gracious  interest 
which  went  infinitely  beyond  his  warmest  hopes.  There  was  not 
a  letter  only,  but  little  remembrances  for  himself  and  his  wife  ;  and 
better  even  than  the  presents,  a  few  lines  of  verse  addressed  to  each 
of  them. 

Carlyle  sends  the  account  to  his  mother : 

"Comely  Bank:  August  18. 

"News  came  directly  after  breakfast  that  a  packet  from  Goethe 
had  arrived  in  Leith.  Without  delay  I  proceeded  thither,  and  found 
a  little  box  carefully  overlapped  in  wax  cloth,  and  directed  to  me. 
After  infinite  wranglings  and  perplexed  misdirected  higglings  I  suc- 
ceeded in  rescuing  the  precious  packet  from  the  fangs  of  the  Cus- 
tom-house sharks,  and  in  the  afternoon  it  was  safely  deposited  in 
our  little  parlor — the  daintiest  boxie  you  ever  saw — so  carefully 
packed,  so  neatly  and  tastefully  contrived  was  everything.  There 
was  a  copy  of  Goethe's  poems  in  five  beautiful  little  volumes  for 
'  the  valued  marriage  pair  Carlyle  ;'  two  other  little  books  for  my- 
self, then  two  medals,  one  of  Goethe  himself  and  another  of  his 
father  and  mother ;  and,  lastly,  the  prettiest  wrought-iron  necklace 
with  a  little  figure  of  the  poet's  face  set  in  gold  for  'my  dear 
spouse,'  and  a  most  dashing  pocket-book  for  me.  In  the  box  con- 
taining the  necklace,  and  in  each  pocket  of  the  pocket-book  were 
cards,  each  with  a  verse  of  poetry  on  it  in  the  old  master's  own 
hand.  All  these  I  will  translate  to  you  by-and-by  as  well  as  the 
long  letter  which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all — one  of  the  kindest  and 
gravest  epistles  I  ever  read.  He  praises  me  for  the  '  Life  of  Schiller ' 
and  the  others ;  asks  me  to  send  him  some  account  of  my  own  pre- 
vious history,  etc.  In  short,  it  was  all  extremely  graceful,  affection- 
ate and  patriarchal.  You  may  conceive  how  much  it  pleased  us. 
I  believe  a  ribbon  with  the  Order  of  the  Garter  would  scarcely  have 
flattered  either  of  us  more." 

Tke  letter  from  Goethe  was  this  :' 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Weimar:  July  20,  1827. 

"In  a  letter  of  the  15th  of  March  which  I  sent  by  the  post,  and 
which  I  trust  has  reached  you  safely,  I  mentioned  the  great  pleasure 
which  your  present  had  given  me.  It  found  me  in  the  country,  where 
I  could  study  and  enjoy  it  with  greater  leisure.  I  now  am  enabled 

1  "In  einem  Schreiben  vom  15.  Miirz,  welches  ich  mil  der  Post  absendcte  und  Sie 
hoffentlich  zu  rechter  Zeit  werden  erhalten  haben,  vermeldete  ich  wie  viol  Vergnugen 
mir  Ihre  Sendung  gebracht.  Sie  fand  mich  auf  dem  Lande,  wo  ich  sie  mil  mehrerer 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  233 

to  send  a  packet  to  you  likewise,  which  I  hope  that  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  accept  from  me. 

"Let  me,  in  the  first  place,  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,  how  very  highly 
I  esteem  your  '  Biography  of  Schiller.'  It  is  remarkable  for  the  care- 
ful study  which  it  displays  of  the  incidents  of  Schiller's  life,  and  one 
clearly  perceives  in  it  a  study  of  his  works  and  a  hearty  sympathy 
with  them.  The  complete  insight  which  you  have  thus  obtained 
into  the  character  and  high  merits  of  this  man  is  really  admirable, 
so  clear  it  is,  and  so  appropriate,  so  far  beyond  what  might  have 
been  looked  for  in  a  writer  in  a  distant  country. 

"  Here  the  old  saying  is  verified,  '  a  good  will  helps  to  a  full  un- 
derstanding.' It  is  just  because  the  Scot  can  look  with  affection  on 
a  German  and  can  honor  and  love  him,  that  he  acquires  a  sure  eye 
for  that  German's  finest  qualities.  He  raises  himself  into  a  clearness 
of  vision  which  Schiller's  own  countrymen  could  not  arrive  at  in 
earlier  days.  For  those  who  live  with  superior  men  are  easily  mis- 
taken in  their  judgment.  Personal  peculiarities  irritate  them.  The 
swift  changing  current  of  life  displaces  their  points  of  view,  and 
hinders  them  from  perceiving  and  recognizing  the  true  worth  of 
such  men. 

' '  Schiller's  character,  however,  was  so  extraordinary  that  his  biog- 
rapher could  start  with  the  idea  of  an  excellent  man  before  him. 
He  could  carry  that  idea  through  all  individual  destinies  and  achieve- 
ments, and  thus  see  his  task  accomplished. 

"The  notices,  prefixed  to  'German  Romance,'  of  the  lives  of  Mu- 
saeus,  Hoffmann,  Richter,  etc.,  can  be  approved  of  equally  in  their 
several  kinds.  They  are  compiled  with  care,  are  briefly  set  out,  and 
provide  an  adequate  notion  of  each  author's  personal  character,  and 
of  the  effect  of  it  upon  his  writings. 

"Mr.  Carlyle  displays  throughout  a  calm,  clear  sympathy  with 
poetical  literary  activity  in  Germany.  He  throws  himself  into  the 

Ruhe  betrachten  und  gcnicssen  konnte.  Gegenwartig  sehe  ich  mich  in  dem  Stande, 
auch  ein  Packet  an  Sie  abzuscbickcn  mit  dem  Wunsche  freundlichcr  Aufnahme. 

"  Lassen  Sie  mich  vorerst,  mein  Theuerster,  von  Ihrer  Biographie  Schillers  das  Beste 
sagcn.  Sie  ist  merkwurdig,  indem  sie  ein  genaues  Studium  der  Vorfiille  seines  Lebens 
beweist,  so  wie  denn  auch  das  Studium  seiner  Werke  und  cine  innige  Theilnahmo  an 
denselben  daraus  hervorgeht.  Bewundernswurdig  ist  es  wie  Sie  sich  auf  diese  Weise 
eine  genugende  Einsicht  in  den  Character  und  das  hohe  Verdienstliche  dieses  Manncs 
verscbafft,  so  klar  und  so  gehorig  als  es  kaum  aus  der  Feme  zu  erwartcn  gewesen. 

"  Hier  bewahrheitet  sich  jedoch  ein  altes  Wort :  '  Der  gute  Willo  hilft  zu  vollkomme- 
ner  Kenntniss. '  Denn  gerade  dass  der  Schottlander  den  deutschen  Mann  mit  Wohl- 
wollen  anerkennt.  inn  verehrt  und  licbt,  dadurch  wirder  dessen  treffliche  Eigenschaflen 
am  sichersten  gewahr,  dadurch  erhebt  er  sicb  zu  einer  Klarheit  zu  der  sogarLandsleute 
des  Trefflichen  in  fruheren  Tagen  nicht  gelangen  konnten;  denn  die  Mitlebenden  wer- 
den  an  vorzuglichen  Menschen  gar  leicht  irre  :  das  Besondere  der  Person  stort  sie,  das 
laufende  bewegliche  Leben  verriickt  ihre  Standpunkte  und  hindert  das  Kenneii  und 
Auerkenncn  eines  solchen  Mannes. 

"Dieser  aber  war  von  so  ausserordcntlicher  Art.  dass  der  Biograph  die  Idee  eines 
vorzuglicheu  Manncs  vor  Augen  halten  und  sie  durch  individuelle  Schicksale  und  Lei- 
stungen  durrhfuhren  konnte,  und  sein  Tagewcrk  dergestalt  vollbracht  sah. 

"  Die  vor  den  'German  Romances '  mitgetheilten  N'otizen  uber  das  Leben  Musaus.HofT- 
manns.  Richters, etc.. kann  man  in  ihrer  Art  gleichfalls  mit  Beyfall  aufnehmen ;  sie  sind 
mit  Sorgfalt  gesammelt,  kurzlich  dargestellt  und  geben  von  eines  jeden  Autors  individu- 
ellem  Character  und  der  Einwirkung  dessslbcn  auf  seine  Schriflen  genugsame  Vor- 
kenntniss. 

"Durchaus  beweist  Hcrr  Carlyle  eine  rubige,  klare  Tueilnahme  an  den  deutschen 


234  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

especial  national  tendency,  and  gives  individuals  their  credit  each  in 
his  place. 

"Let  me  add  a  few  general  observations  which  I  have  long  har- 
bored in  silence,  and  which  have  been  stirred  up  by  these  present 
works. 

"It  is  obvious  that  for  a  considerable  time  the  efforts  of  the  best 
poets  and  aesthetic  writers  throughout  the  world  have  been  directed 
towards  the  general  characteristics  of  humanity.  In  each  particular 
sphere,  be  it  history,  mythology,  fiction,  more  or  less  arbitrarily  con- 
ceived, the  universal  is  made  to  show  and  shine  through  what  is 
merely  individual  or  national. 

' '  In  practical  life  we  perceive  the  same  tendency,  which  pervades 
all  that  is  of  the  earth  earthy,  crude,  wild,  cruel,  false,  selfish,  and 
treacherous,  and  tries  everywhere  to  spread  a  certain  sereneness. 
We  may  not,  indeed,  hope  from  this  the  approach  of  an  era  of  uni- 
versal peace  ;  but  yet  that  strifes  which  are  unavoidable  may  grow 
less  extreme,  wars  less  savage,  and  victory  less  overbearing. 

"Whatever  in  the  poetry  of  all  nations  aims  and  tends  towards 
this,  is  what  the  others  should  appropriate.  And  one  must  study 
and  make  allowances  for  the  peculiarities  of  each  nation,  in  order  to 
have  real  intercourse  with  it.  The  special  characteristics  of  a  people 
are  like  its  language  and  its  currency.  They  facilitate  exchange ; 
indeed,  they  first  make  exchange  possible. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  sir,  for  these  remarks,  which  perhaps  are 
not  quite  coherent,  nor  to  be  scanned  all  at  once ;  they  are  drawn 
from  the  great  ocean  of  observations,  which,  as  life  passes  on,  swells 
up  more  and  more  round  every  thinking  person.  Let  me  add  some 
more  observations  which  I  wrote  down  on  another  occasion,  but 
which  apply  specially  to  the  business  on  which  you  are  now  en- 


poetisch-literarischen  Beginnen  ;  er  giebt  sich  bin  an  das  eigenthumliche  Bestreben 
dcr  Nation,  er  lilsst  den  Einzelnen  gelten,  jeden  an  seiner  Stelle. 

"Sey  mir  nun  erlaubt  allgemeine  Betrachtungen  hinzuzufugen,welclio  ich  liingst  bey 
mir  im  Stillen  hege  und  die  mir  bey  den  vorliegenden  Arbeiten  abermals  frisch  aufge- 
regt  worden. 

"Oflenbar  ist  das  Bestreben  der  besten  Pichter  und  asthetischen  Schriftstcller  aller 
Kationen  schon  seit  geraumer  Zeit  auf  das  allgemoin  Menschliche  gerichtet.  In  jedem 
Besondern,  es  sey  nun  historisch,  mythologisch,  fabelhaft,  mehr  oder  weniger  willkuhr- 
lich  ersonnen,  wird  man  durch  Nationalitat  und  Personlichkeit  bindurcb  jencs  Allge- 
meine immer  mehr  durchleucuten  und  durchschitnmern  sehn. 

"  Da  nun  auch  im  practischen  Lebensgange  ein  gleiches  obwaltet  nnd  durch  alles 
Irdisch-Rohe, Wilde,  Grausame,  Falsche,  Kigennutzige,  Lugenhafte  sich  durchschlingt. 
und  uberall  einige  Milde  zu  verbreiten  trachtet,  so  ist  zwar  nicht  zu  hoflen  dass  ein 
allgemeiner  Friede  dadurch  sich  einleite,  aber  doch  dass  der  unvermeidliche  Streit 
iiiicli  und  nach  lassliche'r  werde,  der  Krieg  wcnigcr  grausani,  der  Sieg  weniger  iiber- 
muthig. 

"  Was  nun  in  den  Dichtungen  aller  Xationen  hierauf  hindeutet  und  hinwirkt,  djess 
ist  es  was  die  ubrigen  sich  anzueignen  haben.  Die  Besonderheiten  einer  jeden  muss 
man  kennen  lemon,  und  sio  ihr  zu  lassen,  um  gerade  dadurch  mit  ihr  zu  verkehren; 
dcnn  die  Eigenheiten  einer  Nation  sind  wio  ihre  Sprache  und  ihre  Munzsorten,  sie 
erleichtern  den  Verkehr,  ja,  sie  machen  ihn  erst  vollkommen  moglich. 

"  Verzeihen  Sie  mir,  mein  Werthester,  diese  vielleicht  nicht  ganz  zusammenhangcn- 
den  noch  alsbald  zu  uberschauenden  Aetisserungen ;  sie  sind  geschiipft  aus  dem  Ocean 
der  Betrachtungen,  der  um  einen  jeden  Denkenden  mit  den  Jahren  immer  mehr  an- 
schwillt.  Lassen  Sie  mich  noch  Einiges  hinzufugen,  welches  ich  bey  einer  amlern 
Gelegenhcit  niederschrieb,  das  sich  jcdocu  hauptsachlich  auf  Ihr  Geschafll  unmit- 
telbar  beziehen  lasst 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CAKLYLE.  235 

"We  arrive  best  at  a  true  general  toleration  when  we  can  let  pass 
individual  peculiarities, whether  of  persons  or  peoples,  without  quar- 
relling with  them;  hoWing  fast  nevertheless  to  the  conviction  that 
genuine  excellence  is  distinguished  by  this  mark,  that  it  belongs  to 
all  mankind.  To  such  intercourse  and  mutual  recognition  the  Ger- 
mans have  long  contributed. 

"He  who  knows  and  studies  German  finds  himself  in  the  market 
where  the  wares  of  all  countries  are  oifered  for  sale  ;  while  he  en- 
riches himself,  he  is  officiating  as  interpreter. 

"A  translator,  therefore,  should  be  regarded  as  a  trader  in  this 
great  spiritual  commerce,  and  as  one  who  makes  it  his  business  to 
advance  the  exchange  of  commodities.  For  say  what  we  will  of  the 
inadequacy  of  translation,  it  always  will  be  among  the  weightiest 
and  worthiest  factors  in  the  world's  affairs. 

"The  Koran  says  that  God  has  given  each  people  a  prophet  in  its 
own  tongue.  Each  translator  is  also  a  prophet  to  his  people.  The 
effects  of  Luther's  translation  of  the  Bible  have  been  immeasurable, 
though  criticism  has  been  at  work  picking  holes  in  it  to  the  present 
day.  What  is  the  enormous  business  of  the  Bible  Society  but  to 
make  known  the  Gospel  to  every  nation  in  its  own  tongue  ? 

"But  from  this  point  we  might  be  led  into  endless  speculations. 
Let  me  conclude. 

"Oblige  me  with  an  early  reply,  that  I  may  know  that  my  packet 
has  reached  your  hands. 

"  Commend  me  to  your  excellent  wife,  for  whom  I  send  a  few 
trifles.  Give  me  pleasure  by  accepting  them  in  return  for  her  charm- 
ing present.  May  your  life  together  be  happy,  and  may  many  years 
be  your  portion. 

"I  have  yet  something  to  add.    May  Mr.  Carlyle  take  in  friendly 


"  Eino  wahrhaft  allgcmcine  Duldung  wird  am  sirhcrston  crreicht,  wcnn  man  das 
Besondcro  dor  cinzclnen  Menschen  und  Volkerschaftcn  auf  sich  beruhen  liisst,  bey  dor 
Ueberzeugung  jedoch  fcsthiilt,  dass  das  wahrhaft  Vcrdienstliche  sich  dadurch  aus- 
zeichnet  dass  es  der  ganzen  Mcnschheit  angehtfrt.  Zu  einer  solchen  Vermittlung  und 
wechselseitigen  Anorkennung  tragcn  die  Dcutschcn  scit  langer  Zeit  schon  bey. 

"  Wer  die  deutsche  Sprache  verstcht  und  studirt  befindet  sich  auf  dem  Markte  wo 
allc  Nationeu  ihrc  Waaren  anbieten.  Er  spielt  den  Dolmetscher  indem  er  sich  selbst 
bereichert. 

"Und  so  ist  jcdor  Uebersetzcr  anzusehen,  dass  or  sich  als  Vcrmittler  dieses  allge- 
mein  geistigen  Handels  bemuht,  und  den  Wcchseltuusch  zu  befordern  sich  zum  Ge- 
schull't  macht.  Denn  was  man  auch  von  der  Unzulanglichkeit  des  Uebersetzens  sagon 
mag,  so  ist  und  bleibt  es  doch  eines  der  wichtigsten  und  wurdigsten  GeschaflXe  in  dem 
allgemeinen  Weltwesen. 

"Der  Koran  sagt:  'Gott  hat  jedem  Volke  einen  Prophcten  gegeben  in  seiner  eignen 
Sprache.'  So  ist  jeder  Uebersetzer  ein  Prophet  seinem  Volke.  Luthers  Bibelubcrset- 
zung  hat  die  griissten  Wirkungen  hervorgebracht,  wenn  schon  die  Kritik  daran  bis  auf 
den  heutigen  Tag  immerfort  bedingt  und  miikelt.  Und  was  ist  dcnn  das  ganze  unge- 
heure  Geschaflft  der  Bibelgesellschaft  als  das  Evangelium  einem  jedeu  Volke  in  seiner 
eignen  Sprache  zu  verkundigen? 

"Hier  lassen  Sie  mien  schliessen,  wo  man  ins  Unendlicho  fortfahren  konnte,  und 
erfreuen  Sie  mich  bald  rait  einiger  Erwiederung,  wodurch  icb.  Nachricht  erhalte,  dass 
gegenwiirtigo  Senduug  zu  Ibnen  gekommen  ist. 

"Zum  Schlusse  lassen  Sie  mich  denn  auch  Hire  liebe  Gattin  begriissnn,  fur  die  ich 
einigo  Kleinigkciten.  als  Erwiedening  ihrer  anniuthigen  (Jabe.  beyzulepcn  mir  die 
Freude  macho.  Miige  Ihneu  ein  gluckliches  Zusainmenleben  viele  Jahre  bescheert 
scyn. 

"Nacb  allem  diesem  flnde  ich  mich  angeregt  Eiuiges  hinzuzufugcn:  MOgc  Hcrr 


236  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

part  what  I  have  said  above.  May  he  consider  it  well,  and  throw  it 
into  dialogue,  as  if  he  and  I  had  been  conversing  in  person  together. 
' '  I  have  now  to  thank  him  for  the  pains  which  he  has  taken  with 
my  own  writings,  and  for  the  good  and  affectionate  tone  in  which 
he  has  been  pleased  to  speak  of  myself  and  of  my  history.  I  may 
thus  gratify  myself  with  a  belief  that  hereafter,  on  more  complete 
acquaintance  with  my  works,  and  after  the  publication  especially  of 
my  correspondence  with  Schiller,  he  will  not  alter  his  opinion  either 
of  my  friend  or  of  me,  but  will  find  it  confirmed  by  fresh  particulars. 
Wishing  him  from  my  heart  all  good  things,  and  with  genuine  sym- 
pathy with  him,  ,  J.  W.  GOETHE." 

Such  was  Goethe's  letter,  which  so  much  and  so  justly  delighted 
Carlyle.  On  a  card  in  the  pocket-book  was  written,  "Mr.  Carlyle 
will  give  me  especial  pleasure  by  some  account  of  his  past  life." 

On  another  card  were  the  lines: 

"Augenblicklich  aufzuwarten 
Schicken  Freunde  solche  Karten  ; 
Dicsmal  aber  heissts  nicht  gern, 
Eucr  Freund  ist  weit  uud  fern.— GOETHE. 
"Weimar,  20.  Juli,  1827." 

A  third  card  was  in  the  box  with  the  wrought-iron  necklace  which 
was  intended  for  Mrs.  Carlyle.  On  this  was  written: 

"Wirst  du  in  den  Spiegel  blicken 
Und  vor  deinen  heitern  Blicken 
Dich  die  ernste  Zierde  schmOcken: 
Denke  dass  nichts  besser  schmuckt 
Als  wenn  man  den  Freund  begluckt. — G." 

The  "books"  were  "Faust,"  the  first  five  volumes  of  the  latest 
edition  of  Goethe's  works,  and  the  last  published  number  of  "  Kunst 
und  Alterthum."  There  were  two  medallions,  as  Carlyle  had  told 
his  mother — one  of  them  of  Goethe,  with  an  eagle  on  the  reverse  ; 
the  other  of  himself  also,  with  his  father  and  mother  on  the  reverse. 
The  whole  present,  Carlyle  said,  was  most  tasteful,  and  to  him  as 
precious  as  any  such  present  could  possibly  be. 

A  still  more  charming,  because  unintended,  compliment  was  to 
follow  from  the  same  quarter.  When  the  purposed  removal  to 
Craigenputtock  came  to  be  talked  of  among  Carlyle's  Edinburgh 


Carlyle  allcs  obige  freundlich  aufnehmen  «nd  durch  anhaltendc  Betrachtung  in  ein 
Gesprach  verwandeln,  damit  es  ihm  zu  Muthe  werde  als  wenn  wir  persOnlich  cinander 
gegenuber  stiinden. 

"  Habe  ich  ihm  ja  sogar  noch  far  die  Bemiihung  zu  danken,die  er  an  meine  Arbeiten 
gewendet  hat,  fur  den  gutcn  und  wohlwollenden  Sinn  mil  dem  er  von  meiner  Person- 
lichkeit  und  meinen  Lebenereignissen  zu  sprechen  geneigt  war.  In  dieser  Ueberzeu- 
gung  darf  ich  mich  deun  auch  zum  voraus  freuen.  dass  kunftighin,wenn  noch  mehrere 
von  meinen  Arbeiten  ihm  bekannt  werden,  besonders  auch  wenn  meine  Correspondenz 
mil  Schiller  erscheinen  wird,  er  wcder  von  diescm  Freunde  noch  von  mir  seine  Mei- 
nung  andern,  sondern  sie  vielmehr  durch  manches  Besondere  noch  mehr  bestatigt 
flnden  wird.  Das  Beste  herzlich  wunschend  treu  theiluehmend,  J.  W.  GOETHE. 

"  Weimar,  a.  20.  Jul.  1827." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  237 

friends,  it  seemed  to  them  "considerably  fantastic  and  unreason- 
able." 

"Prospects  in  Edinburgh  [he  says]  had  begun  to  brighten  eco- 
nomically and  otherwise ;  the  main  origin  of  this  was  our  acquaint- 
ance with  the  brilliant  Jeffrey,  a  happy  accident  rather  than  a  mat- 
ter of  forethought  on  either  side.  My  poor  article  on  Jean  Paul, 
willingly  enough  admitted  into  his  Review,  excited  a  considerable, 
though  questionable,  sensation  in  Edinburgh,  as  did  the  next  still 
weightier  discharge  of  '  German  Literature '  in  that  unexpected  ve- 
hicle, and  at  all  events  denoted  me  as  a  fit  head  for  that  kind  of 
adventure.  In  London,  shortly  after,  had  arisen  a  Foreign  Quar- 
terly Review,  and  then  in  a  month  or  two,  on  some  booksellers'  quar- 
rel, a  Foreign  Review,  on  both  of  which  I  was  employed,  courted, 
etc.,  till  their  brabble  healed  itself.  This  and  the  like  of  this  form- 
ed our  principal  finance  fund  during  all  the  Craigenputtock  time. 
For  nothing  had  shaken  our  determination  to  the  new  home.  Very 
well,  very  well,  I  said  to  all  this.  It  will  go  much  farther  there 
instead  of  straitened  as  here." 

The  article  on  German  literature  reached  Weimar.  It  was  of 
course  anonymous.  Goethe  read  it,  and,  curious  to  know  the  au- 
thorship of  such  an  unexpected  appearance,  wrote  to  Carlyle  for 
information.  "Can  you  tell  me,"  he  said,  "who  has  written  the 
paper  on  the  state  of  German  literature  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  ? 
It  is  believed  here  to  be  by  Mr.  Lockhart,  Sir  Walter  Scott's  step-son. 
They  are  both  serious,  well-disposed  men,  and  equally  deserving  of 
honor."1  Goethe  could  not  be  suspected  of  insincere  politeness,  and 
every  sentence  of  the  previous  letter  was  a  genuine  expression  of 
true  feeling ;  but  this  indirect  praise  was  so  clearly  undesigned  that 
it  was  doubly  encouraging. 

Carlyle  was  still  determined  on  Craigenputtock,  but  various  causes 
continued  to  detain  him  in  Edinburgh.  The  acquaintance  with 
Jeffrey  ripened  into  a  warm  intimacy.  Jeffrey  was  a  frequent  vis- 
itor in  Comely  Bank ;  the  Carlyles  were  as  often  his  guests  at  Craig- 
crook.  They  met  interesting  persons  there,  whose  society  was  pleas- 
ant and  valuable.  Jeffrey  was  himself  influential  in  the  great  world 
of  politics,  and  hopes  revived — never,  perhaps,  very  ardently  in  Car- 
lyle himself,  but  distinctly  in  his  wife  and  among  his  friends — that 
he  would  be  rescued  by  some  fitting  appointment  from  banishment 
to  the  Dumfriesshire  moors.  Carlyle  was  now  famous  in  a  limited 
circle,  and  might  reasonably  be  selected  for  a  professorship  or  other 
similar  situation;  while  other  possibilities  opened  on  various  sides 
to  which  it  was  at  least  his  duty  to  attend.  Meanwhile  demands 

1  I  am  sorry  that  of  this  letter  from  Goethe  only  this  s'ngle  jrassage  is  preserved. 
Indeed,  as  I  have  already  said,  the  originals  of  all  Goethe's  letters  to  Carlyle  have  dis- 
appeared, and  there  remain  only  the  copies  of  some  of  them  which  he  sent  to  his 
brother. 

11* 


238  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

came  in  thick  for  fresh  articles  :  Jeffrey  wanted  one  on  Tasso;  the 
Foreign  Quarterly  wanted  anything  that  he  pleased  to  send,  with 
liberal  offers  of  pay.  He  could  not  afford  at  such  a  moment  to  be 
out  of  the  reach  of  libraries,  and  therefore  for  the  present  he  left  his 
brother  alone  in  the  moorland  home. 

In  the  summer  he  and  his  wife  ran  down  for  a  short  holiday  at 
Scotsbrig,  giving  a  few  brief  days  to  Templand,  and  a  glance  at 
Craigenputtock.  By  August  they  were  again  settled  in  Comely 
Bank.  The  Carlyles,  as  he  said  long  before,  were  a  clannish  set, 
and  clung  tenaciously  together.  The  partings  after  ever  so  brief  a 
visit  were  always  sorrowful. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"21  Comely  Bank:  August 

"My  dear  Mother,  —  It  was  pity  that  we  were  all  so  wae  that 
day  we  went  off;  but  we  cannot  well  help  it.  This  life  is  but  a 
series  of  meetings  and  partings,  and  many  a  tear  one  might  shed, 
while  these  'few  and  evil  days'  pass  over  us.  But  we  hope  there 
is  another  scene  to  which  this  is  but  the  passage,  where  good  and 
holy  affections  shall  live  as  in  their  home,  and  for  true  friends  there 
shall  be  no  more  partings  appointed.  God  grant  we  may  all  have 
our  lot  made  sure  in  that  earnest  and  enduring  country;  for  surely 
this  world,  the  more  one  thinks  of  it,  seems  the  more  fluctuating, 
hollow,  and  unstable.  What  are  its  proudest  hopes  but  bubbles  on 
the  stream  of  time,  which  the  next  rushing  wave  will  scatter  into 
air  ?  You  have  heard  of  Canning's  death — the  Prime-minister  of 
Britain,  the  skilful  statesman  on  whom  all  eyes  in  England  and 
Europe  were  expectingly  fixed. 

'  What  is  life  ?  a  thawing  ice-board 

On  a  sea  with  sunny  shore; 
Gay  we  sail,  it  melts  beneath  us ; 
We  are  sunk  and  seen  no  more. ' 

But  I  must  leave  these  moralities,  in  which,  perhaps,  I  am  too  apt 
to  indulge.  Before  this  time  Mary  will  be  with  vou  and  have 
reported  progress  up  to  Monday  last,  the  day  when  I  left  Craigen- 
puttock. She  will  have  told  you  how  Jane  and  I  were  overtaken 
by  rain  at  Dumfries,  and  how  we  spent  the  night  with  the  hospital 
man  in  Academy  Street,  and  how  his  daft  maid  came  bouncing  into 
the  room  after  we  were  in  bed,  to  the  astonishment  of  Goody,  alto- 
gether unaccustomed  to  such  familiarity.  For  the  rest,  however, 
we  did  as  well  as  might  be,  and  the  order  of  '  Mary  Stuart's '  apart- 
ment was  considerably  admired.  On  Monday  evening,  after  part- 
ing with  the  Doctor,  I  cantered  along  without  adventure  to  Temp- 
land;  was  met  two  bow-shots  from  the  house  by  a  young  wife  well 
known  to  me  and  glad  to  get  me  back,  and  next  morning  by  ten 
o'clock  both  she  and  I  were  safely  mounted  on  the  roof  of  the  Edin- 
burgh coach,  where,  the  day  being  fine,  we  continued  comfortably 
enough  seated,  till  about  half-past  eight  the  natural  progress  of  the 
vehicle  landed  us  safe  and  sound  in  our  own  neighborhood.  The 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  239 

house  was  standing  quiet  and  almost  overgrown  with  flowers.  Next 
d;iy  everything  returned  to  its  old  routine,  and  we  were  sitting  in 
our  bright,  still  little  cottage  as  if  we  had  never  stirred  out  of  it.  I 
set  to  work  to  trim  the  garden  till  my  mind  should  settle  after  its 
wanderings,  but  as  yet  I  am  not  half  through  with  it. 

"You  must  come  hither  in  winter,  that  is  a  settled  point.  My 
father  and  you  may  journey  together  by  Hawick  in  many  ways. 
Alick  was  even  calculating  the  relative  costs  and  profits  of  coming 
to  Edinburgh  himself  with  a  cartload  of  potatoes  and  other  necessa- 
ries. In  case  of  his  visiting  us,  you  might  all  then  come  together. 
But  any  way  you  MUST  come.  It  would  be  a  grievous  disappoint- 
ment if  I  could  not  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  you  this  city  and 
its  wonders,  and  if  we  missed  this  opportunity  there  is  no  saying 
when  another  might  occur.  So  settle  it  with  yourself  that  you  are 
to  come,  and  in  the  mean  time  consider  when  you  can  do  it  best, 
and  we  will  study  to  conform. 

"  I  went  on  Saturday  to  see  Jeffrey,  but  found  him  from  home 
for  a  week.  So  soon  as  I  have  got  Goethe  a  letter  written,  and 
various  other  little  odd  things  transacted,  I  design  sitting  down  to 
my  large  article  for  his  Renew;  after  which  I  shall  be  ready  for  the 
poor  book,1  which,  alas  !  has  been  dreadfully  overlooked  of  late.  It 
is  a  pity  one  had  not  twenty  minds  and  hands ;  double  pity  one  did 
not  faithfully  employ  the  mind  and  hands  one  has;  but  I  will  turn 
a  new  leaf  shortly,  for  idle  I  cannot  and  must  not  be.  The  sweat 
of  the  brow  is  not  a  curse  but  the  wholesomest  blessing  in  life. 
Remember  me  in  warmest  affection  to  every  one  at  Scotsbrig.  I 
would  gire  a  shilling  for  a  long  letter.  Surely  you  may  club  one 
up  amongst  you.  I  am  ever,  my  dear  mother's  son, 

"T.  CARLTLE." 

"With  reputation  growing,  and  economics  looking  less  gloomy, 
Carlyle's  spirits  were  evidently  rising.  "We  hear  no  more  of  pain 
and  sickness  and  bilious  lamentations,  and  he  looked  about  him  in 
hope  and  comfort.  The  London  University  was  getting  itself  es- 
tablished, offering  opportunities  for  Non-conformist  genius  such  as 
England  had  never  before  provided.  Professors  were  wanted  there 
in  various  departments  of  knowledge.  He  was  advised  to  offer 
himself  to  be  one  of  them,  and  he  wrote  to  Irving  to  inquire,  with 
no  particular  result. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Comely  Bank :  September  5. 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Edward  Irving  the  other  day  about  the  ^s- 
thetical  Professorship  in  the  London  University.51  In  a  strange, 
austere,  puritanical,  yet  on  the  whole  honest  and  friendly  looking 
style,  he  advises  me  to  proceed  and  make  the  attempt.  '  The  Lord,' 
he  says,  blesses  him;  his  Church  rejoices  in  'the  Lord;'  in  fact,  the 

1  Not  yet  consciously  abandoned,  but  never  again  taken  up. 

1  It  was  not  yet  decided  what  the  chair  was  to  be—  Rhetoric,  Taste,  Moral  Philoso- 
phy, English  Literature,  or  what. 


240  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Lord  and  he  seem  to  be  quite  hand  and  glove.  He  looks  unhappy, 
for  his  tone  sounds  hollow,  like  some  voice  from  a  sepulchral  aisle; 
yet  I  do  honestly  believe  there  is  much  worth  among  his  failings, 
much  precious  truth  among  all  this  cant.  I  must  even  regret  that 
he  goes  into  those  matters  with  so  very  disunited  a  heart ;  but  there 
where  he  stands,  I  wish  I  and  every  one  of  us  were  half  as  good 
men.  As  to  this  'projection,'  as  he  calls  it,  I  have  not  yet  taken  any 
steps,  being  indeed  too  busy  for  doing  anything.  I  was  to  write  to 
him  again,  but  have  not.  I  wait  for  counsel  from  Jeffrey,  whom  I 
have  not  since  seen." 

In  appointments  to  the  London  University,  the  great  Brougham, 
not  yet  Chancellor  or  peer,  but  member  for  Yorkshire,  and  greatest 
orator  in  the  House  of  Commons,  was  likely  to  be  omnipotent. 
Jeffrey,  it  was  equally  probable,  would  carry  weight  with  Brougham ; 
and  Jeffrey,  when  Carlyle  consulted  him,  expressed  the  utmost  per- 
sonal willingness  to  be  of  use  to  Carlyle.  But  his  reply  illustrates 
what  Goethe  had  just  observed  about  Schiller,  that  genius  rarely 
finds  recognition  from  contemporaries  as  long  as  it  can  possibly  be 
withheld.  At  all  times,  Jeffrey  said,  he  would  be  willing  to  recom- 
mend Carlyle  as  a  man  of  genius  and  learning ;  he  did  not  conceal, 
however,  that  difficulties  would  lie  in  the  way  of  his  success  in  this 
especial  enterprise.  Carlyle,  he  said.was  a  sectary  in  taste  and  litera- 
ture, and  was  inspired  with  the  zeal  by  which  sectaries  were  distin- 
guished. He  was  inclined  to  magnify  the  special  doctrines  of  his 
sect,  and  rather  to  aggravate  than  reconcile  the  differences  which 
divided  them  from  others.  He  confessed,  therefore,  that  he  doubted 
whether  the  patrons  either  would  or  ought  to  appoint  such  a  person 
to  such  a  charge.  The  sincerity  and  frankness  of  Carlyle's  character 
increased  the  objection,  for  such  a  person  would  insist  the  more 
peremptorily  on  the  articles  of  his  philosophic  creed — a  creed  which 
no  one  of  the  patrons  adopted,  and  most  of  them  regarded  as  dam- 
nable heresy.  It  was  therefore  but  too  likely  that  this  would  prove 
an  insuperable  obstacle.  In  all  other  respects  Jeffrey  considered 
Carlyle  fully  qualified,  and  likely,  if  appointed,  to  do  great  credit  to 
the  Establishment.  But  he  was  afraid  that  Carlyle  would  not  wish 
to  disguise  those  singularities  of  opinion  from  which  he  foresaw  the 
obstructions  to  his  success ;  and  as  a  farther  difficulty  he  added  that 
the  chair  at  which  Carlyle  was  aiming  had  long  been  designed  for 
Thomas  Campbell,  and  would  probably  be  given  to  him. 

Jeffrey  invited  Carlyle  and  his  wife  to  dinner,  however,  to  talk  the 
chances  over.  Carlyle  assured  Jeffrey  ' '  that  there  was  no  sectarian- 
ism or  heresy  in  the  matter.  He  was  more  open  to  light,"  he  said, 
"than  others  of  his  craft;  and  he  was  satisfied  for  himself  that  the 
patrons  of  the  University  would  do  excellently  well  to  make  him 
professor."  "Jeffrey,"  Mrs.  Carlyle  thought,  "was  in  his  heart  of 
the  same  opinion."  She  was  herself  uncertain  whether  she  wished 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  241 

her  husband  to  succeed  or  not ;  but  London  would  at  all  events  be 
an  escape  from  Craigenputtock.  Reflection  had  not  tended  to  make 
the  moor  more  palatable  to  her.  Her  little  sister-in-law  Jean  had 
just  been  sent  out  thither  to  keep  her  brother  company. 

"Poor  Jean!"  Mrs.  Carlyle  wrote  about  this.  "  She  is  seeing  the 
world  all  on  a  sudden.  What  will  the  creature  make  of  herself  at 
Craigenputtock?  I  hope  they  took  her  garters  from  her,  and  every- 
thing in  the  shape  of  hemp  or  steel." 

Jeffrey  did  what  he  could,  perhaps  not  with  very  great  ardor,  but 
with  vigor  enough  to  save  him  from  the  charge  of  neglecting  his 
friend.  He  went  on  a  visit  to  Brougham  in  the  autumn.  He  men- 
tioned Carlyle,  and  in  high  terms  of  praise.  He  "found  Brougham, 
however,  singularly  shy  on  the  subject,  and  though  the  subject  was 
introduced  half  a  dozen  times  during  Jeffrey's  stay,  Brougham  was 
careful  to  evade  it,  in  a  way  that  showed  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
pressed  for  an  answer  even  by  an  intimate  friend." 

"I  may  add  in  confidence,"  Jeffrey  said,  "that  he  made  very 
light  of  Irving's  recommendation,  and  it  was  not  likely  to  be  of 
much  weight  with  any  of  the  other  directors  either." 

Notwithstanding  these  discouragements,  Carlyle  silently  nourished 
some  hope  of  success. 

"I  believe  [he  wrote  to  his  brother  in  October]  that  no  appoint- 
ment to  the  London  chair  will  take  place  for  a  considerable  time, 
and  in  the  mean  while  Brougham  will  keep  his  eye  on  me,  and  if  he 
finds  that  I  prosper  may  apply  to  me ;  if  not,  will  leave  me  standing. 
At  all  events  the  thing  is  right.  I  am  before  these  people  in  some 
shape,  perhaps  as  near  my  real  one  as  I  could  expect;  and  if  they 
want  nothing  with  me,  'the  deil  be  in  me,'  as  daft  Wull  said,  if  I 
want  anything  with  them  either.  I  am  still  as  undetermined  as  ever 
whether  their  acceptance  of  me  would  be  for  my  good  or  not." 

He  came  to  know  Brougham  better  in  after  years.  There  was 
probably  no  person  in  England  less  likely  to  recognize  Carlyle's 
qualities;  and  the  more  distinguished  Carlyle  became,  the  more 
Brougham  was  sure  to  have  congratulated  himself  on  having  kept 
his  new  University  clear  of  such  an  influence.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  the  "diseateem"  was  equally  marked  on  both  sides. 

Carlyle  meanwhile  did  not  rest  on  the  vain  imagination  of  help 
from  others.  He  worked  with  all  his  might  on  the  new  line  which 
had  been  opened  to  him,  and  here  I  have  to  mention  one  of  those 
peculiarly  honorable  characteristics  which  meet  us  suddenly  at  all 
turns  of  his  career.  He  had  paid  his  brother's  expenses  at  the  Uni- 
versity out  of  his  salary  as  the  Bullers'  tutor.  He  was  now  poor 
himself  with  increased  demands  upon  him,  but  the  first  use  which 
he  made  of  his  slightly  improved  finances  was  to  send  John  Carlyle 
to  complete  his  education  in  the  medical  schools  in  Germany.  He 


243  LITE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

estimated  John's  talents  with  a  brother's  affection,  and  he  was  re- 
solved to  give  him  the  best  chances  of  distinguishing  himself.  The 
cost  was  greater  than  he  had  calculated  on,  but  he  was  not  dis- 
couraged. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Comely  Bank :  November  29, 1827. 

"Do  not,  good  brother, let  thy  heart  be  cast  down  for  the  Mam- 
mon of  this  world.  A  few  more  hard  sovereigns  we  are  yet,  thank 
Heaven,  in  a  condition  to  furnish.  Write  for  what  is  necessary  and 
it  will  be  sent.  Above  all  do  not  neglect  dissection  and  surgery  for 
the  sake  of  any  poor  thrift  there  might  be  in  the  omission  of  it.  Go 
on  and  prosper.  Learn  all  and  everything  that  is  to  be  learned ;  and 
if  you  come  home  to  us  a  good  well-appointed  man  and  physician, 
we  will  not  think  the  money  ill-bestowed. " 

The  remainder  of  the  same  letter  carries  on  the  picture  of  daily 
life  at  Comely  Bank : 

"The  Edinburgh  Review  is  out  some  time  ago,  and  the  '  State  of 
German  Literature '  has  been  received  with  considerable  surprise 
and  approbation  by  the  Universe.  Thus,  for  instance,  De  Quincey 
praises  it  in  his  Saturday  Post.  Sir  William  Hamilton  tells  me  it  is 
'cap-tal,'  and  Wilson  informs  John  Gordon  that  it  'has  done  me  a 
deil  o'  good.'  De  Quincey  was  here  last  Wednesday  and  sate  till 
midnight.  He  is  one  of  the  smallest  men  you  ever  in  your  life  be- 
held ;  but  with  a  most  gentle  and  sensible  face,  only  that  the  teeth 
are  destroyed  by  opium,  and  the  little  bit  of  an  under  lip  projects 
like  a  shelf.  He  speaks  with  a  slow,  sad,  and  soft  voice  in  the  po- 
litest manner  I  have  almost  ever  witnessed,  and  with  great  graceful- 
ness and  sense,  were  it  not  that  he  seems  decidedly  given  to  prosing. 
Poor  little  fellow !  It  might  soften  a  very  hard  heart  to  see  him  so 
courteous,  yet  so  weak  and  poor;  retiring  home  with  his  two  chil- 
dren to  a  miserable  lodging-house,  and  writing  all  day  for  the  king 
of  donkeys,  the  proprietor  of  the  Saturday  Post.  I  lent  him  Jean 
Paul's  autobiography,  which  I  got  lately  from  Hamburg,  and  ad- 
vised him  to  translate  it  for  Blackwood,  that  so  he  might  raise  a 
few  pounds,  and  fence  off  the  Genius  of  Hunger  yet  a  little  while. 
Poor  little  De  Quincey!  He  is  an  innocent  man,  and,  as  you  said, 
extremely  wasliable  away." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
A.D.  1827.     .ET.  32. 

WHILE  Carlyle  was  taking  care  of  his  brother,  an  active  interest 
was  rising  in  Edinburgh  about  himself.  Scotch  people  were  begin- 
ning to  see  that  a  remarkable  man  had  appeared  among  them,  and 
that  they  ought  not  to  let  him  slip  through  their  hands.  A  new 
opening  presented  itself,  which  he  thus  describes  to  his  father : 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  243 

To  Mr.  James  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Comely  Bank:  December  22. 

"  There  has  been  a  fresh  enterprise  started  for  me,  no  less  than  to 
attempt  to  be  successor  to  Dr.  Chalmers  in  the  St.  Andrew's  Univer- 
sity. He  (Chalmers)  is  at  present  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy 
there,  but  is  just  removing  to  Edinburgh  to  be  Professor  of  Divinity, 
and  I  have  been  consulting  with  my  friends  whether  it  would  be 
prudent  in  me  to  offer  myself  as  a  candidate  for  the  vacant  office. 
They  all  seem  to  think  sincerely  that  if  the  election  proceeded  on 
fair  principles  I  might  have  a  chance  of  rather  a  good  sort ;  but  this 
proviso  is  only  a  doubtful  one,  the  custom  having  long  been  to  de- 
cide such  tlu'ngs  by  very  wwfair  principles.  As  yet  nothing  is  deter- 
mined ;  but  my  patrons  are  making  inquiries  to  see  how  the  land  lies ; 
and  some  time  next  week  we  shall  know  what  to  do.  Most  part  are 
inclined  to  think  I  ought  to  try." 

Among  those  who  encouraged  Carlyle  in  this  ambition,  and  lent 
active  help,  Jeffrey  was  now  the  first,  and,  besides  general  recom- 
mendations, wrote  most  strongly  in  his  favor  to  Dr.  Nicol,  the  Prin- 
cipal of  the  University.  Equal  testimonials,  viewed  by  the  intrinsic 
quality  of  the  givers,  to  those  which  were  collected  or  spontaneously 
offered  on  this  occasion,  were  perhaps  never  presented  by  any  candi- 
date for  a  Scotch  professorship.  Goethe  himself  wrote  one,  which 
in  these  times  might  have  carried  the  day;  but  Goethe  was  then  only 
known  in  Scotland  as  a  German  dreamer.  Carlyle,  though  again 
personally  pretending  indifference,  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost, 
and  was,  perhaps,  more  anxious  than  he  was  aware  of  being. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"  Comely  Bank:  January,  1821. 

"I  am  as  diligent  as  possible  storming  the  battlements  of  St.  An- 
drew's University  for  tJie  professorship  for  which  I  have  actually 
eight  days  ago  declared  myself  formally  a  candidate!  This  was 
after  all  due  investigation  conducted  by  Jeffrey  and  others,  from 
which,  if  I  could  gather  no  fixed  hope  of  my  succeeding,  it  seemed 
at  least  that  there  was  no  fixed  determination  against  me ;  that  I 
might  try  without  censure — nay,  in  my  circumstances,  ougut  to  try. 
I  accordingly  wrote  off  to  St.  Andrew's,  and  next  day  to  all  the  four 
winds,  in  quest  of  recommendations — to  Goethe,  to  Irving,  to  Buller, 
to  Brewster,  etc.  These  same  recommendations  are  now  beginning 
to  come  in  upon  me.  I  had  one  from  Brewster  two  days  ago  (with 
the  offer  of  farther  help),  and  this  morning  came  a  decent  testifica- 
tory  letter  from  Buller,  and  a  most  majestic  certificate  in  three  pages 
from  Edward  Irving.  The  good  orator  speaks  as  from  the  heart, 
and  truly  says,  as  he  has  ever  done,  that  he  thinks  me  a  most  worthy 
man — not  forgetting  to  mention  among  my  other  advantages  the 
'  prayers  of  religious  parents,'  a  blessing  which,  if  I  speak  less  of  it, 
I  hope  I  do  not  feel  less  than  he.  On  the  whole  it  is  a  splendid  af- 
fair this  of  his;  and  being  tempered  by  the  recommendation  of  John 


244  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Leslie,1  may  do  me  much  good.  Before  the  end  of  next  week  I  ex- 
pect to  have  all  my  testimonials  sent  off;  and  there  the  matter  may 
for  a  long  time  rest,  the  period  of  election  being  still  unfixed.  Of 
my  hopes  and  calculations  as  to  success  I  can  say  nothing,  being  my- 
self able  to  form  no  judgment.  I  am  taught  to  believe  that  if  merit 
gain  it,  I  shall  gain;  which  is  a  proud  belief,  and  ought  to  render 
failure  a  matter  of  comparative  indifference  to  me;  more  especially 
as,  like  the  weather  in  Cowthwaitcs'  calculations,  I  can  do  '  owther 
way.'  I  often  care  not  sixpence  whether  I  get  it  or  no;  but  we  shall 
see.  If  it  is  laid  out  for  me  it  will  come;  if  not,  not." 

Jeffrey  had  been  alert  making  inquiries.  The  nomination  he  had 
found  to  rest  in  substance  with  the  Principal,  Dr.  Nicol,  an  active, 
jobbing,  popular  man,  who  had  placed  most  of  the  present  professors 
and  conferred  obligations  on  all,  and  who,  through  his  influence  in 
earlier  days  with  Lord  Melville,  had  acquired  an  absolute  ascendency 
in  the  St.  Andrew's  Senate.  Nicol  secured,  the  rest  of  the  votes 
might  be  counted  on;  without  Nicol  they  could  not.  The  Princi- 
pal was  described  by  Jeffrey  as  good-natured,  sensible,  and  worldly, 
not  without  some  sense  of  the  propriety  of  attracting  men  of  talent 
and  reputation  into  the  University  staff;  but  cautious  and  prudent, 
possessing  neither  genius  nor  learning,  and  without  reverence  for 
them.  In  Church  matters  Nicol  was  moderate,  with  distrust  and 
contempt  for*  every  kind  of  enthusiasm.  It  was  not  unlikely,  there- 
fore, that  he  had  already  cast  his  eyes  on  some  decent,  manageable, 
and  judicious  priest  for  the  office.  With  such  a  man  testimonials 
from  Irving  would  be  rather  injurious  than  useful.  Men  of  rank 
would  weigh  most,  and  next  to  them  men  of  repute  for  learning. 

There  is  a  certain  humor  in  the  claims  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  sup- 
ported by  the  most  famous  man  of  letters  in  Europe,  being  submitted 
to  be  tried  in  the  scales  by  such  a  person  as  this.  But  so  it  was,  and 
is,  and  perhaps  must  be,  in  constitutional  countries,  where  high  of- 
fice may  fall  on  the  worthy,  but  rarely  or  never  on  the  most  worthy. 
It  is  difficult  everywhere  for  the  highest  order  of  merit  to  find  rec- 
ognition. Under  a  system  of  popular  election  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible. 

"My  testimonials  [Carlyle  wrote  to  his  brother  John]5  arc  in  such 
terms  that  if  I  cannot  carry  the  place  I  think  it  may  seem  vain  to 
attempt  to  carry  any  such  place  by  means  of  testimonials  to  merit 
alone.  The  dear  little  Duke3 — Jane  says  she  could  kiss  him — has 
written  me  a  paper  which  might  of  itself  bring  me  any  professorship 
in  the  island.  Irving  also  spends  five  heroical  pages  on  my  merits, 
and  Wilson  says  there  is  no  man  known  to  him  fitter  for  the  of- 
fice ;  so  what  more  can  I  do  but  let  the  matter  take  its  course  and 

1  Sir  John  Leslie,  Professor  of  Mathematics  in  Edinburgh,  who  had  been  Carlyle'a 
teacher.  1  February  1, 1828. 

a  Duke  of  Craigcrook,  the  name  by  which  Jeffrey  went. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  345 

await  the  issue  'with  indescribable  composure.'  The  truth  is,  I 
hardly  care  which  way  it  go.  A  man,  if  you  give  him  meat  and 
clothes,  is,  or  ought  to  be,  sufficient  for  himself  in  this  world;  and 
his  culture  is  but  beginning  if  he  think  that  any  outward  influence 
of  person  or  thing  can  either  make  him  or  mar  him.  If  I  do  not  go 

thither  (which,  after  all,  is  very  likely;  for ,  an  old  stager,  talks 

of  applying),  why  then  /shall  not  go,  and  they  will  not  get  me;  and 
the  sun  will  rise  and  set,  and  the  grass  will  grow,  and  I  shall  have 
eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear  notwithstanding.  Do  all  that  you  can 
in  honesty,  and  reckon  the  result  indubitable ;  for  the  inward  result 
will  not  fail  if  rightly  endeavored;  and  for  the  outward,  '  non  flocci 
facias,'  do  not  value  it  a  rush." 

After  a  few  weeks  the  suspense  was  over.  Carlyle  was  not  ap- 
pointed ;  some  one  else  was ;  and  some  one  else's  church  was  made 
over  to  another  some  one  else  whom  it  was  desirable  to  oblige  ; 
' '  and  so  the  whole  matter  was  rounded  off  in  the  neatest  manner 
possible."  Such  at  least  was  Carlyle's  account  of  what  he  under- 
stood to  be  the  arrangement.  Perhaps  the  "some  one  else"  was  a 
fitter  person  after  all.  Education  in  countries  so  jealous  of  novelty 
as  Great  Britain  is,  or  at  least  was  sixty  years  ago,  follows  naturally 
upon  lines  traced  out  by  custom,  and  the  conduct  of  it  falls  as  a 
matter  of  course  to  persons  who  have  never  deviated  from  those 
lines.  New  truths  are  the  nutriment  of  the  world's  progress.  Men 
of  genius  discover  them,  insist  upon  them,  prove  them  in  the  face  of 
opposition,  and  if  the  genius  is  not  merely  a  phosphorescent  glitter, 
but  an  abiding  light,  their  teaching  enters  in  time  into  the  Univer- 
sity curriculum.  But  out  of  new  ideas  time  alone  can  distinguish 
the  sound  and  real  from  the  illusive  and  imaginary;  and  it  was 
enough  that  Carlyle  was  described  as  a  man  of  original  and  extraor- 
dinary gifts  to  make  college  patrons  shrink  from  contact  with  him. 

Carlyle  himself  dimly  felt  that  St.  Andrew's  might  not  be  the 
best  place  for  him.  It  seemed  hard  to  refuse  promotion  to  a  man 
because  he  was  too  good  for  it,  and  no  doubt  he  would  have  been 
pleased  to  be  appointed.  But  for  the  work  which  Carlyle  had  to 
do  a  position  of  intellectual  independence  was  indispensable,  and 
his  apprenticeship  to  poverty  and  hardship  had  to  be  prolonged  still 
farther  to  harden  his  nerves  and  perhaps  to  test  his  sincerity.  The 
loss  of  this  professorship  may  be  regretted  for  Mrs.  Carlyle's  sake, 
who  did  not  need  the  trials  which  lay  before  her.  Carlyle  himself 
in  a  University  chair  would  have  been  famous  in  his  day,  and  have 
risen  to  wealth  and  consequence,  but  he  might  not  have  been  the 
Carlyle  who  has  conquered  a  place  for  himself  among  the  Im- 
mortals. 

So  ended  the  only  fair  prospect  which  ever  was  opened  to  him  of 
entering  any  of  the  beaten  roads  of  life  ;  and  fate  having  thus  de- 
cided in  spite  of  the  loud  remonstrance  of  all  friends,  of  Jeffrey 


246  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

especially,  Carlyle  became  once  more  bent  on  removing  to  Craigen- 
puttock. 

"The  certificate  of  the  angel  Gabriel  [he  said]  would  not  have 
availed  me  a  pin's  worth.  The  devil  may  care;  I  can  still  live  inde- 
pendent of  all  persons  whatever.  At  the  Craig,  if  we  stick  together 
as  we  have  done,  we  may  fairly  bid  defiance  to  the  constable. 
Praised  be  Heaven!  for  of  all  curses  that  of  being  baited  for  debt, 
or  even  frightened  of  falling  into  it,  is  surely  the  bitterest." 

The  repairs  in  the  old  house  were  hastened  forward,  that  it  might 
be  ready  for  them  in  the  spring. 

The  domestic  scene  in  Comely  Bank  had  been  meantime  bright- 
ened by  the  long-talked-of  event  of  the  visit  of  old  Mrs.  Carlyle  to 
Edinburgh.  In  all  her  long  life  she  had  never  yet  been  beyond 
Annandale,  had  never  seen  the  interior  of  any  better  residence  than 
a  Scottish  farm-house.  To  the  infinite  heaven  spread  above  the 
narrow  circle  of  her  horizon  she  had  perhaps  risen  as  near  on  wings 
of  prayer  and  piety  as  any  human  being  who  was  upon  the  earth 
beside  her ;  but  of  the  earth  itself,  of  her  own  Scotland,  she  knew 
no  more  than  could  be  descried  from  Burnswark  Hill.  She  was  to 
spend  Christmas  week  at  Comely  Bank.  She  arrived  at  the  begin- 
ning of  December. 

To  James  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"  Comely  Bank :  December  22,  1827. 

"My  dear  Father, — My  mother  will  not  let  me  rest  any  longer 
till  I  write  to  you;  she  says  it  was  promised  that  a  letter  should  go 
off  the  very  night  Jean  and  she  arrived ;  and  nevertheless  it  is  a 
mela'ncholy  fact  that  above  two  weeks  have  elapsed  since  that  event, 
and  no  better  tidings  been  sent  you  than  a  word  or  two  in  the  blank 
line  of  the  Courier.  I  would  have  written  sooner  had  I  been  in 
right  case,  or  indeed  had  there  been  anything  more  to  communicate 
than  what  so  brief  an  announcement  might  convey  as  well  as  a 
much  larger  one. 

"The  two  wayfarers  did  not  find  me  waiting  for  them  at  the 
coach  that  Wednesday  evening.  Unhappily  it  was  quite  out  of  my 
power  to  keep  that  or  any  other  appointment.  I  had  been  seized 
about  a  week  before  with  a  most  virulent  sore  throat,  which  detained 
me  close  prisoner  in  the  house.  All  that  I  could  do  under  these 
circumstances  was  to  send  out  a  trusty  substitute,  a  Mr.  Gordon, 
who  kindly  undertook  the  office.  But  he,  mistaking  one  coach  for 
another,  went  and  waited  at  the  wrong  inn ;  so  that  our  beloved  pil- 
grims were  left  to  their  own  resources,  and  had  to  pilot  their  way 
hither  under  the  guidance  of  the  porter  who  carried  their  box. 
This,  however,  they  accomplished  without  difficulty  or  accident, 
and  rejoiced  us  all  by  their  safe  and,  in  part  at  least,  unexpected 
arrival. 

"  Since  then  all  things  have  gone  on  prosperously.  Jane  has  been 
busy,  and  still  is  so,  getting  ready  suitable  apparel  of  bonnets  and 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLTLE.  247 

frocks.  My  mother  has  heard  Andrew  Thomson  in  his  '  braw  kirk,' 
not  much  to  her  satisfaction,  since  '  he  had  to  light  four  candles  be- 
fore even  he  could  strike.'  She  has  also  seen  old  Mrs.  Hope,  the 
Castle  of  Edinburgh,  the  Martyrs'  Graves,  John  Knox's  house,  and 
who  knows  how  many  other  wonders,  of  which  I  doubt  not  she  will 
give  you  a  true  and  full  description  when  she  returns.  As  yet,  how- 
ever, the  half  has  not  been  seen.  The  weather  has  been  so  stormy 
that  travelling  out  was  difficult,  and  I  have  been  hi  no  high  condi- 
tion for  officiating  as  guide.  In  stormy  days  she  smokes  along  with 
me,  or  sews  wearing  raiment,  or  reads  the  wonderful  articles  of  my 
writing  in  the  Edinburgh  Ratiew.  She  has  also  had  a  glimpse  of 
Francis  Jeffrey,  the  great  critic  and  advocate,  and  a  shake  of  the 
hand  from  a  true  German  doctor. 

"  Nevertheless  she  is  extremely  anxious  about  getting  home,  and 
indeed  fails  no  day  to  tell  us  several  times  that  she  ought  to  be  off. 
'She  is  doing  nothing,'  she  says ;  'and  they'll  a'  be  in  a  bubble  o' 
work '  at  home.  I  tell  her  she  was  never  idle  for  two  weeks  in  her 
life  before,  and  ought  therefore  to  give  it  a  fair  trial ;  that '  the  bub- 
ble at  home '  will  all  go  on  rightly  enough  in  her  absence ;  that,  in 
short,  she  should  not  go  this  year  but  the  next.  So  I  am  in  hopes 
we  shall  get  her  persuaded  to  stay  where  she  is  till  after  New-year's- 
day,  which  is  now  only  nine  or  ten  days  distant,  and  then  we  will 
let  her  go  in  peace.  The  two  Janes  and  she  are  all  out  in  the  town 
at  present  buying  muslin  for  sundry  necessary  articles  of  dress  which 
we  have  persuaded  the  mother  to  undertake  the  wearing  of.  These 
may  keep  her,  I  hope,  in  some  sort  of  occupation ;  for  idle,  I  see,  she 
cannot  arid  will  not  be.  We  will  warn  you  duly  when  to  expect 
her. 

"I  trust  you  will  soon  be  well  enough  for  a  journey  hither;  for 
you  too,  my  dear  father,  must  see  Edinburgh  before  we  leave  it.  I 
have  thought  of  compelling  you  to  come  back  with  me  when  I  come 
down.  I  am  ever,  your  affectionate  son,  T.  CARLYLE." 

James  Carlyle  did  not  come.  He  was  with  his  son  once  after- 
wards at  Craigenputtock,  but  he  never  saw  Edinburgh. 

"My  mother  [Carlyle  wrote  to  his  brother  on  the  1st  of  February] 
stayed  about  four  weeks,  then  went  home  by  Hawick,  pausing  a  few 
days  there.  She  was  in  her  usual  health,  wondered  much  at  Edin- 
burgh, but  did  not  seem  to  relish  it  excessively.  I  had  her  at  the 
pier  of  Leith  and  showed  her  where  your  ship  vanished,  and  she 
looked  over  the  blue  waters  eastward  with  wettish  eyes,  and  asked 
the  dumb  waters  'when  he  would  be  back  again.'  Good  mother ! 
but  the  time  of  her  departure  came  on,  and  she  left  us  stupefied  by 
the  magnitude  of  such  an  enterprise  as  riding  over  eighty  miles  in 
the  Sir  Walter  Scott  without  jumping  out  of  the  window,  which  I 
told  her  was  the  problem.  Dear  mother!  let  us  thank  God  that  she 
is  still  here  in  the  earth  spared  for  us,  and,  I  hope,  to  see  good.  I 
would  not  exchange  her  for  any  ten  mothers  I  have  ever  seen.  Jane 
(Jean)  the  less  she  left  behind  her,  'to  improve  her  mind.'  The 
creature  seems  to  be  doing  very  fairly,  and  is  well  and  contented. 
My  Jane,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  yet  far  enough  from  well,  but  I  hope 


248  LITE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

much  from  summer  weather  and  a  smart  pony  in  the  south.  She  is 
not  by  any  means  an  established  valetudinarian,  yet  she  seldom  has 
a  day  of  true  health,  and  has  not  gamed  strength  entirely  since  you 
left  her." 

I  give  a  few  more  extracts  from  letters  written  to  his  brother 
during  the  remainder  of  the  Comely  Bank  tune : 

To  JoJin^Carlyle. 

"Comely  Bank:  March  7. 

"Explain  to  me  how  I  may  send  you  a  matter  of  twenty  pounds, 
or  such  other  sum  as  you  may  require,  to  bring  you  home  to  us 
again.  I  have  no  want  of  money  for  all  needful  purposes  at  present ; 
and  (I  thank  God  for  it)  I  am  able  to  earn  more;  neither  is  there  any 
investment  for  it  half  so  good  as  these  in  the  bank  of  affection,  where 
perishable  silver  and  gold  is  converted  into  imperishable  remem- 
brances of  kind  feelings.  Speak,  therefore,  plainly  and  speedily,  and 
it  shall  be  done.  .  .  . 

"I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  admire  Schelling,  and  know  that  you 
do  not  understand  him.  That  is  right,  my  dear  Greatheart.  Look 
into  the  deeply  significant  regions  of  Transcendental  philosophy 
(as  all  philosophy  must  be),  and  feel  that  there  are  wonders  and 
mighty  truths  hidden  in  them ;  but  look  with  your  clear  gray  Scot- 
tish eyes  and  shrewd  Scottish  understanding,  and  refuse  to  be  mys- 
tified even  by  your  admiration.  Meanwhile,  Diligence,  Truth ;  Truth, 
Diligence.  These  are  our  watchwords,  whether  we  have  ten  talents 
or  only  a  decimal  fraction  of  one. 

"I  have  not  a  syllable  to  tell  you  about  the  London  University  ex- 
cept that,  according  to  all  human  probability,  the  people  neither  now 
nor  at  any  other  time  will  have  the  least  to  do  with  me.  I  heard  the 
other  day  from  Charles  Buller  the  younger.  He  says  that,  hearing 
of  my  purpose,  he  went  to  Mill  (the  British  India  Philister),  who  is 
one  of  the  directors,  and  spoke  with  him;  but  found  that  my  Ger- 
man metaphysics  were  an  unspeakable  stone  of  stumbling  to  that 
great  thinker,  whereby  Buller  began  to  perceive  that  my  chances 
had  diminished  to  the  neighborhood  of  zero.  It  appears,  however, 
that  I  am  become  a  sort  of  newspaper  Literatim  in  London  on  the 
strength  of  these  articles  (bless  them),  and  that  certain  persons  won- 
der what  manner  of  man  I  am.  A  critic  in  the  Courier  (apparent- 
ly the  worst  in  nature  from  the  one  sentence  that  I  read  of  him)  says 
I  am  'the  supremest  German  scholar  in  the  British  Empire.'  Das 
Jiole  der  Teufel!  However,  I  am  rather  amused  at  the  naivete  with 
which  Crabb  Robinson  talks  to  me  on  this  subject.  He  characterizes 
the  papers  as  a  splendid  instance  of  literary  ratting  on  the  part  of  the 

editor,  and,  imputing  the  whole  composition  to  a  Sir Hamilton, 

advocate,  says  it  has  some  eloquence,  and  though  it  cuts  its  own 
throat  (to  speak  as  a  figure),  will  do  GOOD. 

"The  Foreign  Review  gave  me  47£.  for  my  trash  on  "Werner.1  I 
have  sent  them  a  far  better  paper  on  Goethe's  '  Helena,  "2  for  which  I 
shall  not  get  so  much.  I  have  engaged  to  send  in  a  long  paper  on 

i  "Miscellanies,"  vol.  i.  p.  101.  a  Ibid.,  p.  171. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  249 

Goethe's  character  generally,  this  of  '  Helena '  being  a  sort  of  intro- 
duction. 

"How  matters  stand  at  Craigenputtock  I  can  only  gpess,  but  am 
going  down  to  see.  I  am  in  no  small  uncertainty.  This  Edinburgh 
is  getting  more  agreeable  to  me,  more  and  more  a  sort  of  home;  and 
I  can  live  in  it,  if  I  like  to  live  perpetually  unhealthy,  and  strive  for- 
ever against  becoming  a  Tiack;  for  that  I  cannot  be.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  should  have  liberty  and  solitude  for  aught  I  like  best  among 
the  moors — only  Jane,  though  like  a  good  wife  she  says  nothing, 
seems  evidently  getting  more  and  more  afraid  of  the  whole  enter- 
prise. She  is  not  at  all  stout  in  health.  But  I  must  go  and  look  at 
things  with  my  own  eyes,  and  now  as  ever  there  is  need  of  mature 
resolve,  and  steadfast  when  mature." 

"March  12. 

"Jeffrey  and  I  continue  to  love  one  another  like  a  new  Pylades 
and  Orestes.  At  least,  such  is  often  my  feeling  towards  him.  Good 
little  Duke !  There  are  few  men  like  thee  in  this  world,  Epicurean 
in  creed  though  thou  be,  and  living  all  thy  days  among  Turks  in 
grain. 

"  Wilson  I  can  get  little  good  of,  though  we  are  as  great  as  ever. 
Poor  Wilson !  It  seems  as  if  he  shrunk  from  too  close  a  union  with 
any  one.  His  whole  being  seems  hollowed  out,  as  it  were,  and  false 
and  counterfeit  in  his  own  eyes.  So  he  encircles  himself  with  wild 
cloudy  sportf ulness,  which  to  me  often  seems  reckless  and  at  bottom 
full  of  sharp  sorrow.  Oh  that  a  man  would  not  halt  between  two 
opinions.  How  can  any  one  love  poetry  and  rizzered  haddocks  with 
whiskey  toddy,  outwatch  the  Bear  with  Peter  Robinson,  and  at  the 
same  time  with  William  Wordsworth  ?  For  the  last  four  weeks  he 
has  been  very  unwell,  and  his  friends  are  not  without  apprehension 
for  him.  He  purposes  to  visit  Switzerland  in  summer  and  take  De 
Quincey  with  him.  I  called  yesterday  on  De  Quincey  about  two 
o'clock  and  found  him  invisible  in  bed.  His  landlady,  a  dirty,  very 
wicked  looking  woman,  said,  if  he  rose  at  all,  it  was  usually  about 
five  o'clock.  Unhappy  little  opium-eater,  and  a  quicker  little  fellow, 
or  of  meeker  soul  (if  he  had  but  lived  in  Paradise  or  Lubberland) 
is  not  to  be  found  in  these  parts. 

"  The  intellectual  city  is  at  present  entertaining  itself  not  a  little 
with  the  Apocrypha  controversy,  in  which  Grey  the  minister  and 
Thomson  the  minister  are  exhibiting  the  various  manner  of  offence 
and  defence,  to  the  edification  of  all  parties  interested.  Translated 
into  the  language  of  the  shambles,  where  their  spirit  clearly  enough 
originates,  these  pamphlets  of  theirs  mean  simply,  '  Sir,  you  are  a 
d — d  rascal,'  and  '  No,  sir,  you  are  a  d — d  rascal.'  Happily  I  have 
read  next  to  nothing  of  the  whole,  and  heard  as  little  of  it  as  I  possi- 
bly could.  But  now  some  private  wag  has  taken  up  the  task  of 
caricaturing  in  pictorial  wise  these  reverend  persons ;  and  a  crowd 
shoving  and  shouldering  for  a  clear  and  clearer  view  may  be  seen 
at  all  print-shop  windows  contemplating  the  distorted  figures  of 
their  pawstors  depicted  as  bull-dogs  and  greyhounds,  as  preachers 
and  prize-fighters  climbing  the  steeple  like  orthodox  men,  or  throt- 
tling one  another  like  exasperated  fish-women ;  for  there  are  said  to 
be  twelve  caricatures  in  the  course  of  publication,  and  a  fresh  one 


250  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

comes  out  every  now  and  then.  What  Thomson  and  Grey  say  to  it 
I  know  not.  For  myself  I  should  only  say,  in  the  words  of  the  old 
poem — 

'  May  the  Lord  put  an  end  unto  all  cruel  wars. 
And  send  peace  and  contentment  unto  all  British  tars.' " 

Eager  as  Carlyle  was  to  be  gone  from  Edinburgh,  he  confessed 
that  in  his  wife's  manner  he  had  detected  an  unwillingness  to  bury 
herself  in  the  moors.  The  evident  weakness  of  her  health  alarmed 
him,  and  he  could  scarcely  have  forgotten  the  aversion  with  which 
she  had  received  his  first  suggestion  of  making  Craigenputtock  their 
home.  For  himself  his  mind  was  made  up ;  and  usually  when  Car- 
lyle wished  anything  he  was  not  easily  impressed  with  objections 
to  it.  In  this  instance,  however,  he  was  evidently  hesitating.  Craig- 
enputtock, sixteen  miles  from  the  nearest  town  and  the  nearest  doc- 
tor, cut  off  from  the  outer  world  through  the  winter  months  by  snow 
and  flood,  in  itself  gaunt,  grim,  comfortless,  and  utterly  solitary,  was 
not  a  spot  exactly  suited  to  a  delicate  and  daintily  nurtured  woman. 
In  the  counter  scale  was  her  mother,  living  a  few  miles  below  in 
Nithsdale.  But  for  this  attraction  Mrs.  Carlyle  would  have  declined 
the  adventure  altogether ;  as  it  was  she  trembled  at  the  thought 
of  it. 

The  house  in  Comely  Bank  was  held  only  by  the  year.  They 
were  called  on  to  determine  whether  they  would  take  it  for  another 
twelve  months  or  not.  Before  deciding  they  resolved  to  see  Craig- 
enputtock together  once  more.  Little  Jean  was  left  in  charge  at 
Edinburgh,  and  Carlyle  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  went  down  to  Dumfries- 
shire. "I  still  remember, "he  said  in  the  "  Reminiscences,"  "two 
gray  blusterous  March  days  at  Craigenputtock,  with  the  proof-sheets 
of  Goethe's  '  Helena '  in  my  hand,  and  Dumfries  architects  chaotic- 
ally joined  therewith." 

On  a  blusterous  March  day  Craigenputtock  could  not  look  to  ad- 
vantage. They  left  it  still  irresolute,  and  perhaps  inclining  to  re- 
main among  their  friends.  But  the  question  had  been  settled  for 
them  in  their  absence;  on  returning  to  Comely  Bank  they  found  that 
their  landlord,  not  caring  to  wait  longer  till  they  had  made  up  their 
minds,  had  let  the  house  to  another  tenant,  and  that  at  all  events 
they  would  have  to  leave  it  at  Whitsuntide.  This  ended  the  uncer- 
tainty. 

"We  found  all  well  at  Comely  Bank  [Carlyle  wrote  to  his  moth- 
er, when  he  came  back],  only  the  fire  a  little  low,  and  the  maid  gone 
out  seeking  places,  so  that  it  was  some  space  before  tea  could  be 
raised.  The  wise  young  stewardess1  had  sunk  considerably  into 
pecuniary  embarrassments,  but  in  all  other  points  was  well  and  hap- 
py, and  had  managed  herself  throughout  with  a  degree  of  prudence 

1  Jean,  his  sister. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  251 

and  gumption  far  beyond  her  years.  Indeed,  both  Jane  and  I  TV  ere 
surprised  at  the  acuteness  the  little  crow  had  displayed  in  all  emer- 
gencies, and  perhaps  still  more  at  the  strange  growth  she  had  made 
in  manner  and  bearing  during  our  absence,  for  she  seemed  to  have 
enlarged  into  a  sort  of  woman  during  that  period  of  self -direction. 
The  best  of  our  news  is  that  we  are  coming  down  to  the  Craig  this 
Whitsunday  to  take  up  our  abode  there.  This  house  was  found  to 
have  been  let  during  our  absence.  Since  we  had  to  flit  any  way, 
wlrithcr  should  we  flit  but  to  our  own  house  on  the  moor?  We  are 
coming  down  then  against  the  term,  to  neighbor  you.  Will  you  be 
good  neighbors  or  bad  ?  I  cannot  say,  Mrs.  Carlyle,  but  I  jealouse 
you,  I  jealouse  you.  However,  we  are  to  try;  for  Jane  and  I  were 
out  this  very  day,  buying  paper  for  the  two  rooms,  which  is  already 
on  its  way  to  Dumfries;  and  the  painters  we  trust  are  busy,  and 
Alick  and  Uncle  John  doing  great  things,  that  the  mansion  house 
may  be  swept  and  smooth  by  the  26th  of  May,  when  we  will  visit  it 
with  bag  and  baggage,  we  hope  as  a  permanent  home. 

"I  anticipate  'with  confidence  [he  wrote  at  the  same  time  to  his 
brother]  a  friendly  and  rather  comfortable  arrangement  at  the  Craig, 
in  which,  not  in  idleness,  yet  in  peace  and  more  self -selected  occu- 
pations, I  may  find  more  health,  and,  what  I  reckon  weightier,  more 
scope  to  improve  and  worthily  employ  myself,  which  either  here  t>r 
there  I  reckon  to  be  the  great  end  of  existence  and  the  only  happi- 
ness." 

So  ended  the  life  at  21  Comely  Bank — the  first  married  home  of 
the  Carlyles;  which  began  ominously,  as  a  vessel  rolls  when  first 
launched,  threatening  an  overturn,  and  closed  with  improved  health 
and  spirits  on  Carlyle's  part,  and  prospects  which,  if  not  brilliant, 
were  encouraging  and  improving.  He  had  been  fairly  introduced 
into  the  higher  walks  of  his  profession,  and  was  noticed  and  talked 
about.  Besides  the  two  articles  on  Jean  Paul  and  on  German  lit- 
erature, he  had  written  the  paper  on  Werner,  the  essay  on  Goethe's 
"Helena,"  and  the  more  elaborate  and  remarkable  essay  on  Goethe 
himself,  which  now  stand  among  the  "Miscellanies."1  Goethe  per- 
sonally remained  kind  and  attentive.  He  had  studied  Carlyle's  in- 
tellectual temperament,  and  had  used  an  expression  about  him  hi 
the  St.  Andrew's  testimonial  which  showed  how  clear  an  insight  he 
had  gained  into  the  character  of  it.  Carlyle  was  resting,  he  said,  on 
an  original  foundation,  and  was  so  happily  constituted  that  he  could 
develop  out  of  himself  the  requirements  of  what  was  good  and  beau- 
tiful2— out  of  himself,  not  out  of  contact  with  others.  The  work  could 
be  done,  therefore,  as  well,  or  perhaps  better,  in  solitude.  Along  with 
the  testimonial  had  come  a  fresh  set  of  presents,  with  more  cards  and 

i  Vol.  i.  p.  233. 

5  "  Wodurch  an  den  Tag  gelcgt  wird.  dass  er  auf  einem  originalen  Grund  beruhe, 
und  die  Erfordernisse  des  Guten  und  SchOnen  aus  sich  selbst  zu  entwickeln  das  Ver- 
gnugen  habc. "  This,  so  far  as  I  know,  is  the  only  sentence  of  this  testimonial  which 
survives. 


352  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

verses  and  books,  and  with  a  remembrance  of  himself  which  Carlyle 
was  to  deliver  to  Sir  Walter  Scott.  It  was  a  proud  tribute,  and  proud 
he  was  to  report  of  it  to  Scotsbrig. 

"I  must  tell  you  [he  wrote]  of  the  arrival  6f  Goethe's  box,  with 
such  a  catalogue  of  rarities  as  would  astonish  you.  There  was  a 
bracelet  and  gold  breast-pin  (with  the  poet's  bust  on  a  ground  of 
steel),  besides  two  gilt  books  for  Jane,  and  for  the  husband  I  know 
not  how  many  verses  and  cards  and  beautiful  volumes,  the  whole 
wrapped  in  about  half  a  quire  of  German  newspapers.  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  medals  are  not  yet  delivered,  the  baronet  being  at  present  in 
London;  but  I  have  written  to  him  announcing  what  lies  here  for 
his  acceptance,  and  in  some  week  or  two  I  cannot  but  expect  that  I 
shall  speak  with  the  great  man,  and,  having  delivered  my  commis- 
sion, wish  him  good-morning.  To  Goethe  I  have  already  written  to 
thank  him  for  such  kindness." 

This  was  the  last  of  Comely  Bank.  A  few  days  later  the  Carlyles 
were  gone  to  the  Dumfriesshire  moorland  where  for  seven  years  was 
now  to  be  their  dwelling-place.  Carlyle  never  spoke  to  Scott,  as  he 
hoped  to  do;  nor  did  Sir  Walter  even  acknowledge  his  letter.  It 
seems  that  the  medals  and  the  letter  to  Scott  from  Goethe  were  in- 
trusted to  Wilson,  by  whom,  or  by  Jeffrey,  they  were  delivered  to 
Scott  on  the  arrival  of  the  latter  soon  after  in  Edinburgh.  Carlyle's 
letter,  of  which  Wilson  had  also  taken  charge,  was  perhaps  forgotten 
by  him. 


END  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


JANE   WELSH   CARLYLE. 
From  a  miniature  inpossestion  of  J.  A.  Frottde,  Etq. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE 


OF  THE 

FIKST  FOETY  YEAES  OF  HIS  LIFE 

1Y95-1835 


BY 


JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  M.A. 

FORMERLY  FELLOW  OF  EXETER   COLLEGE,  OXFORD 


WITH     PORTRAITS    AND     ILLUSTRATIONS 


TWO  VOLUMES  IN  ONE 
VOL.  II. 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1882 


, 


CONTENTS 

OP 

THE    SECOND    VOLUME. 


OIIAP.  PAOR 

I.  A.D.  1828.     ^ET.  33 1 

II.  A.D.  1828.     ^ET.  33 14 

III.  A.D.  1829.     JET.  34 26 

IV.  A.D.  1830.     ^ET.  35 41 

V.  A.D.  1830.     ^ET.  33 57 

VI.  A.D.  1830.     JET.  35 71 

VII.  A.D.  1831.     /Ex.  30 80 

VIII.  A.D.  1831.     JET.  36 93 

IX.  A.D.  1831.     ^E-r.  36 114 

X.  A.D.  1831.     ^ET.  36 131 

XL  A.D.  1832.     ^E-r.  37 138 

XII.  A.D.  1832.     ^Er.  37 152 

XIII.  A.D.  1832.     JE-r.  37 170 

XIV.  A. D.  1833.     ^ET.  38 189- 

XV.  A.D.  1833.  JET.  38  .                                                           .  202 


iv  CONTENTS. 

OIIAP.  PAGE 

XVI.   A.D.  1833.     J3T.  38 212 

XVII.   A.D.  1834.    Mi.  39 227 

XVIII.  A.D.  1834.    JET.  39 247 

INDEX  .  281 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE Frontispiece 

CRAIGENPUTTOCK To  face  page  14 


LIFE 

OF 

THOMAS    CARLYLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A.D.  1828.     MT.  33. 

GOETHE  had  said  of  Carlyle  that  he  was  fortunate  in  having  in 
himself  an  originating  principle  of  conviction,  out  of  which  he  could 
develop  the  force  that  lay  in  him  unassisted  by  other  men.  Goethe 
had  discerned  what  had  not  yet  become  articulately  clear  to  Carlyle 
himself.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  this  principle  of  conviction  was 
already  active  in  his  mind,  underlying  his  thoughts  on  every  subject 
which  he  touched.  It  is  implied  everywhere,  though  nowhere  defi- 
nitely stated  in  his  published  writings.  We  have  arrived  at  a  period 
when  he  had  become  master  of  his  powers,  when  he  began  distinctly 
to  utter  the  "poor  message,"  as  he  sometimes  called  it,  which  he  had 
to  deliver  to  his  contemporaries.  From  this  time  his  opinions  on 
details  might  vary,  but  the  main  structure  of  his  philosophy  re- 
mained unchanged.  It  is  desirable,  therefore,  before  pursuing  fur- 
ther the  story  of  his  life,  to  describe  briefly  what  the  originating 
principle  was.  The  secret  of  a  man's  nature  lies  in  his  religion,  in 
what  he  really  believes  about  this  world,  and  his  own  place  in  it. 
What  was  Carlyle's  religion?  I  am  able  to  explain  it,  partly  from 
his  conversations  with  myself,  but  happily  not  from  this  source 
only,  into  which  alien  opinions  might  too  probably  intrude.  There 
remain  among  his  unpublished  papers  the  fragments  of  two  unfin- 
ished essays  which  he  was  never  able  to  complete  satisfactorily  to 
himself,  but  which  he  told  me  were,  and  had  been,  an  imperfect  ex- 
pression of  his  actual  thoughts. 

We  have  seen  him  confessing  to  Irving  that  he  did  not  believe,  as 
his  friend  did,  in  the  Christian  religion,  and  that  it  was  vain  to  hope 
that  he  ever  would  so  believe.  He  tells  his  mother,  and  he  so  con- 
tinued to  tell  her  as  long  as  she  lived,  that  their  belief  was  essentially 
the  same,  although  their  language  was  different.  Both  these  state- 
ments were  true.  He  was  a  Calvinist  without  the  theology.  The 

II.— 1 


2  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  . 

materialistic  theory  of  things— that  intellect  is  a  phenomenon  of  mat- 
ter, that  conscience  is  the  growth  of  social  convenience — and  other 
kindred  speculations,  he  utterly  repudiated.  Scepticism  on  the 
nature  of  right  and  wrong,  as  on  man's  responsibility  to  his  Maker, 
never  touched  or  tempted  him.  On  the  broad  facts  of  the  Divine 
government  of  the  universe  he  was  as  well  assured  as  Calvin  him- 
self; but  he  based  his  faith,  not  on  a  supposed  revelation,  or  on  fal- 
lible human  authority.  He  had  sought  the  evidence  for  it,  where 
the  foundations  lie  of  all  other  forms  of  knowledge,  in  the  experi- 
enced facts  of  things  interpreted  by  the  intelligence  of  man.  Expe- 
rienced fact  was  to  him  revelation,  and  the  only  true  revelation. 
Historical  religions,  Christianity  included,  he  believed  to  have  been 
successive  efforts  of  humanity,  loyally  and  nobly  made  in  the  light 
of  existing  knowledge,  to  explain  human  duty,  and  to  insist  on  the 
fulfilment  of  it;  and  the  reading  of  the  moral  constitution  and  posi- 
tion of  man,  in  the  creed,  for  instance,  of  his  own  family,  he  be- 
lieved to  be  truer  far,  incommensurably  truer,  than  was  to  be  found 
in  the  elaborate  metaphysics  of  utilitarian  ethics.  In  revelation, 
technically  so  called,  revelation  confirmed  by  historical  miracles,  he 
was  unable  to  believe — he  felt  himself  forbidden  to  believe — by  the 
light  that  was  in  him.  In  other  ages  men  had  seen  miracles  where 
there  were  none,  and  had  related  them  in  perfect  good  faith  in  their 
eagerness  to  realize  the  divine  presence  in  the  world.  They  did  not 
know  enough  of  nature  to  be  on  their  guard  against  alleged  suspen- 
sions of  its  unvarying  order.  To  Carlyle  the  universe  was  itself  a 
miracle,  and  all  its  phenomena  were  equally  in  themselves  incom- 
prehensible. But  the  special  miraculous  occurrences  of  sacred  his- 
tory were  not  credible  to  him.  "It  is  as  certain  as  mathematics," 
he  said  to  me  late  in  his  own  life,  "that  no  such  thing  ever  has  been 
or  can  be."  He  had  learned  that  effects  succeeded  causes  uniformly 
and  inexorably  without  intermission  or  interruption,  and  that  tales 
of  wonder  were  as  little  the  true  accounts  of  real  occurrences  as  the 
theory  of  epicycles  was  a  correct  explanation  of  the  movements  of 
the  planets. 

So  far  his  thoughts  on  this  subject  did  not  differ  widely  from 
those  of  his  sceptical  contemporaries,  but  his  further  conclusions 
»ot  only  were  not  their  conclusions,  but  were  opposed  to  them  by 
whole  diameters;  for,  while  he  rejected  the  literal  narrative  of  the 
sacred  writers,  he  believed  as  strongly  as  any  Jewish  prophet  or 
Catholic  saint  in  the  spiritual  truths  of  religion.  The  effort  of  his 
life  was  to  rescue  and  reassert  those  truths  which  were  being  dragged 
down  by  the  weight  with  which  they  were  encumbered.  He  ex- 
plained his  meaning  by  a  remarkable  illustration.  He  had  not  come 
(so  far  as  he  knew  his  own  puipose)  to  destroy  the  law  and  the 
prophets,  but  to  fulfil  them — to  expand  the  conception  of  religion 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  3 

\vith  something  wider,  grander,  and  more  glorious  than  the  wildest 
enthusiasm  had  imagined. 

The  old  world  had  believed  that  the  earth  was  stationary,  and 
that  sun  and  stars  moved  round  it  as  its  guardian  attendants.  Sci- 
ence had  discovered  that  sun  and  stars,  if  they  had  proper  motion 
of  their  own,  yet  in  respect  of  the  earth  were  motionless,  and  that 
the  varying  aspect  of  the  sky  was  due  to  the  movements  of  the 
earth  itself.  The  change  was  humbling  to  superficial  vanity.  "The 
stars  in  their  courses  "  could  no  longer  be  supposed  to  fight  against 
earthly  warriors,  or  comets  to  foretell  the  havoc  on  fields  of  slaugh- 
ter, or  the  fate  and  character  of  a  prince  to  be  affected  by  the  con- 
stellation under  which  he  was  born.  But  if  the  conceit  of  the  rel- 
ative importance  of  man  was  diminished,  his  conception  of  the 
system  of  which  he  was  a  part  had  become  immeasurably  more 
magnificent ;  while  every  phenomenon  which  had  been  actually  and 
faithfully  observed  remained  unaffected.  Sun  and  moon  were  still 
the  earthly  time  -  keepers ;  and  the  mariner  still  could  guide  his 
course  across  the  ocean,  by  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  same  stars 
which  Ulysses  had  watched  upon  his  raft. 

Carlyle  conceived  that  a  revolution  precisely  analogous  to  that 
which  Galileo  had  wrought  in  our  apprehension  of  the  material 
heaven  was  silently  in  progress  in  our  attitude  towards  spiritual  phe- 
nomena. 

The  spiritual  universe,  like  the  visible,  Avas  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever;  and  legends  and  theologies  were,  like  the  as- 
tronomical theories  of  the  Babylonians,  Egyptians,  or  Greeks,  true 
so  far  as  they  were  based  on  facts,  which  entered  largely  into  the 
composition  of  the  worst  of  them — true  so  far  as  they  were  the  hon- 
est efforts  of  man's  intellect  and  conscience  and  imagination  to  in- 
terpret the  laws  under  which  he  was  living,  and  regulate  his  life  by 
them.  But  underneath  or  beyond  all  these  speculations  lay  the  facts 
of  spiritual  life,  the  moral  and  intellectual  constitution  of  things  as 
it  actually  was  in  eternal  consistence.  The  theories  which  dis- 
pensed with  God  and  the  soul  Carlyle  utterly  abhorred.  It  was  not 
credible  to  him,  he  said,  that  intellect  and  conscience  could  have 
been  placed  in  him  by  a  Being  which  had  none  of  its  own.  He 
rarely  spoke  of  this.  The  word  God  was  too  awful  for  common 
use,  and  he  veiled  his  meaning  in  metaphors  to  avoid  it.  But  God 
to  him  was  the  fact  of  facts.  He  looked  on  this  whole  system  of 
visible  or  spiritual  phenomena  as  a  manifestation  of  the  will  of  God 
in  constant  forces — forces  not  mechanical  but  dynamic,  interpene- 
trating and  controlling  all  existing  things,  from  the  utmost  bounds 
of  space  to  the  smallest  granule  on  the  earth's  surface — from  the 
making  of  the  world  to,  the  lightest  action  of  a  man.  God's  law 
was  everywhere :  man's  welfare  depended  on  the  faithful  reading  of 


4  LITE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

it.  Society  was  but  a  higher  organism,  no  accidental  agreement  of 
individual  persons  or  families  to  live  together  on  conditions  which 
they  could  arrange  for  themselves,  but  a  natural  growth,  the  con- 
ditions of  which  were  already  inflexibly  laid  down.  Human  life 
was  like  a  garden,  "to  which  the  will  was  gardener,"  and  the  moral 
fruits  and  flowers,  or  the  immoral  poisonous  weeds,  grew  inevita- 
bly according  as  the  rules  already  appointed  were  discovered  and 
obeyed,  or  slighted,  overlooked,  or  defied.  Nothing  was  indifferent. 
Every  step  which  a  man  could  take  was  in  the  right  direction  or 
the  wrong.  If  in  the  right,  the  result  was  as  it  should  be;  if  in  the 
wrong,  the  excuse  of  ignorance  would  not  avail  to  prevent  the  inev- 
itable consequence. 

These  in  themselves  are  but  commonplace  propositions  which  no 
one  denies  in  words;  but  Carlyle  saw  in  the  entire  tone  of  modern 
thought,  that  practically  men  no  longer  really  believed  them.  They 
believed  in  expediency,  in  the  rights  of  man,  in  government  by  ma- 
jorities; as  if  they  could  make  their  laws  for  themselves.  The  law, 
did  they  but  know  it,  was  already  made;  and  their  wisdom,  if  they 
wished  to  prosper,  was  not  to  look  for  what  was  convenient  to 
themselves,  but  for  what  had  been  decided  already  in  Nature's 
chancery. 

Many  corollaries  followed  from  such  a  creed  when  sincerely  and 
passionately  held.  In  arts  and  sciences  the  authority  is  the  expert 
who  understands  his  business.  No  one  dreamed  of  discovering  a 
longitude  by  the  vote  of  a  majority;  and  those  who  trusted  to  any 
such  methods  would  learn  that  they  had  been  fools  by  running 
upon  the  rocks.  The  science  of  life  was  no  easier — was  harder  far 
than  the  science  of  navigation ;  the  phenomena  were  infinitely  more 
complex;  and  the  consequences  of  error  were  infinitely  more  terri- 
ble. The  rights  of  man,  properly  understood,  meant  the  right  of 
the  wise  to  rule,  and  the  right  of  the  ignorant  to  be  ruled.  "The 
gospel  of  force,"  of  the  divine  right  of  the  strong,  with  which  Car- 
lyle has  been  so  often  taunted  with  teaching,  merely  meant  that 
when  a  man  has  visibly  exercised  any  great  power  in  this  world, 
it  has  been  because  he  has  truly  and  faithfully  seen  into  the  facts 
around  him ;  seen  them  more  accurately  and  interpreted  them  more 
correctly  than  his  contemporaries.  He  has  become  in  himself,  as 
it  were,  one  of  nature's  forces,  imperatively  insisting  that  certain 
things  must  be  done.  Success  may  blind  him,  and  then  he  mis-sees 
the  facts  and  comes  to  ruin.  But  while  his  strength  remains  he  is 
strong  through  the  working  of  a  power  greater  than  himself .  The 
old  Bible  language  that  God  raised  up  such  and  such  a  man  for  a 
special  purpose  represents  a  genuine  truth. 

But  let  us  hear  Carlyle  himself.  The  following  passages  were 
written  in  1852,  more  than  twenty  years  after  the  tune  at  which  we 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  5 

have  now  arrived.  Figure  and  argument  were  borrowed  from  new 
appliances  which  had  sprung  into  being  in  the  interval.  But  the 
thought  expressed  in  them  was  as  old  as  Hoddam  Hill  when  they 
furnished  the  armor  in  which  he  encountered  Apollyon.  They  are 
but  broken  thoughts,  flung  out  as  they  presented  themselves,  and 
wanting  the  careful  touch  with  which  Carlyle  finished  work  which 
he  himself  passed  through  the  press;  but  I  give  them  as  they  remain 
in  his  own  handwriting. 

"SPIRITUAL  OPTICS. 

"Why  do  men  shriek  so  over  one  another's  creeds?  A  certain 
greatness  of  heart  for  all  manner  of  conceptions  and  misconcep- 
tions of  the  Inconceivable  is  now,  if  ever,  in  season.  Reassure  thy- 
self, my  poor  assaulted  brother.  Starting  from  the  east,  a  man's 
road  seems  horribly  discordant  with  thine,  which  is  so  resolutely 
forcing  itself  forward  by  tunnel  and  incline,  victorious  over  imped- 
iments from  the  western  quarter.  Yet  see,  you  are  both  strug- 
gling, more  or  less  honestly,  towards  the  centre  —  all  mortals  are 
unless  they  be  diabolic  and  not  human.  Recollect  with  pity,  with 
smiles  and  tears,  however  high  thou  be,  the  efforts  of  the  meanest 
man.  Intolerance  coiled  like  a  dragon  round  treasures  which  were 
the  palladium  of  mankind  was  not  so  bad;  nay,  rather  was  indis- 
pensable and  good.  But  intolerance,  coiled  aad  hissing  in  that 
horrid  manner,  now  when  the  treasures  are  all  fled,  and  there  are 
nothing  but  empty  pots  new  and  old — pots  proposing  that  they 
shall  be  filled,  and  pots  asserting  that  they  were  once  full — what  am 
I  to  make  of  that?  Intolerance, with  nothing  to  protest  but  empty 
pots  and  eggs  that  are  fairly  addle,  is  doubly  and  trebly  intol- 
erable. I  do  not  praise  the  tolerance  talked  of  in  these  times  ; 
but  I  do  see  the  wisdom  of  a  Truce  of  God  being  appointed,  which 
you  may  christen  tolerance,  and  everywhere  proclaim  by  drum  and 
trumpet,  by  public  cannon  from  the  high  places,  and  by  private 
fiddle,  till  once  there  be  achieved  for  us  something  to  be  intolerant 
about  again.  There  are  a  few  men  who  have  even  at  present  a 
certain  right,  call  it  rather  a  certain  terrible  duty,  to  be  intol- 
erant, and  I  hope  that  these  will  be  even  more,  and  that  their 
intolerance  will  grow  ever  nobler,  diviner,  more  victorious.  But 
how  few  are  there  in  all  the  earth  !  Be  not  so  much  alarmed 
at  the  opulences,  spiritual  or  material,  of  this  world.  Wheth- 
er they  be  of  the  hand  or  the  mind,  whether  consisting  of  St. 
Katherine's  Docks,  blooming  cornfields,  and  filled  treasuries,  or  of 
sacred  philosophies,  theologies,  bodies  of  science,  recorded  heroisms, 
and  accumulated  conquests  of  wisdom  and  harmonious  human 
utterances — they  have  all  been  amassed  by  little  and  little.  Poor 
insignificant  transitory  bipeds  little  better  than  thyself  have  ant- 
wise  accumulated  them  all.  How  inconsiderable  was  the  contri- 
bution of  each!  yet, working  with  hand  or  with  head  in  the  strenu- 
ous ardor  of  their  heart,  they  did  what  was  in  them  ;  and  here,  so 
magnificent,  overwhelming,  almost  divine  and  immeasurable,  is  the 
summed-up  result.  Be  modest  towards  it ;  loyally  reverent  towards 
it :  that  is  well  thy  part.  But  begin  at  last  to  understand  withal 


6  LITE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

what  thy  own  real  relation  to  it  is  ;  and  that  if  it,  in  its  greatness,  is 
divine,  so  then  in  thy  littleness  art  thou  [not  so?]  !  Lasts  Dich  nicht 
verblitffen,  '  Don't  let  thyself  be  put  upon '  [no].  '  Stand  up  for  thy- 
self withal.'  That,  say  the  Germans,  is  the  eleventh  commandment ; 
and  truly  in  these  times  for  an  ingenuous  soul  there  is  not  perhaps 
in  the  whole  Decalogue  a  more  important  one. 

"  And  in  all  kinds  of  times,  if  the  ingenuous  soul  could  but  un- 
derstand that  only  in  proportion  to  its  own  divineness  can  any  part 
or  lot  in  those  divine  possessions  be  vouchsafed  it,  how  inexpressi- 
bly important  would  it  be!  Such  is  forever  the  fact;  though  not 
one  in  the  hundred  now  knows  it  or  surmises  it.  Of  all  these  divine 
possessions  it  is  only  what  thou  art  become  equal  to  that  thou  canst 
take  away  with  thee.  Except  thy  own  eye  have  got  to  see  it,  except 
thy  own  soul  have  victoriously  struggled  to  clear  vision  and  belief 
of  it,  what  is  the  thing  seen  and  the  thing  believed  by  another  or  by 
never  so  many  others  ?  Alas !  it  is  not  thine,  though  thou  look  on  it, 
brag  about  it,  and  bully  and  fight  about  it  till  thou  die,  striving  to 
persuade  thyself  and  all  men  how  much  it  is  thine.  Not  it  is  thine, 
but  only  a  windy  echo  and  tradition  of  it  bedded  in  hypocrisy,  end- 
ing sure  enough  in  tragical  futility,  is  thine.  What  a  result  for  a 
human  soul!  In  all  ages,  but  in  this  age,  named  of  the  printing- 
press,  with  its  multiform  pulpits  and  platforms,  beyond  all  others, 
the  accumulated  sum  of  such  results  over  the  general  posterity  of 
Adam  in  countries  called  civilized  is  tragic  to  contemplate;  is,  in 
fact,  the  raw  material  of  every  insincerity,  of  every  scandal,  plati- 
tude, and  ignavia  to  be  seen  under  the  sun.  If  men  were  only 
ignorant,  and  knew  that  they  were  so,  only  void  of  belief  and  sorry 
for  it,  instead  of  filled  with  sham  belief  and  proud  of  it — ah  me  ! 

' '  The  primary  conception  by  rude  nations  in  regard  to  all  great 
attainments  and  achievements  by  men  is  that  each  was  a  miracle 
and  the  gift  of  the  gods.  Language  was  taught  man  by  a  heavenly 
power.  Minerva  gave  him  the  olive,  Neptune  the  horse,  Triptole- 
mus  taught  him  agriculture,  etc.  The  effects  of  optics  in  this  strange 
camera-obscura  of  our  existence  are  most  of  all  singular !  The 
grand  centre  of  the  modern  revolution  of  ideas  is  even  this — we  be- 
gin to  have  a  notion  that  all  this  is  the  effect  of  optics,  and  that  the 
intrinsic  fact  is  very  different  from  our  old  conception  of  it.  Not 
less  'miraculous, 'not  less  divine,  but  with  an  altogether  totally  new 
(or  hitherto  unconceived)  species  of  divineness;  a  divineness  lying 
much  nearer  home  than  formerly ;  a  divineness  that  does  not  come 
from  Judrea,  from  Olympus,  Asgard,  Mount  Meru,  but  is  in  man 
himself;  in  the  heart  of  every  one  born  of  man — a  grand  revolution, 
indeed,  which  is  altering  our  ideas  of  heaven  and  earth  to  an  amaz- 
ing extent  in  every  particular  whatsoever.  From  top  to  bottom  our 
spiritual  world,  and  all  that  depends  on  the  same,  which  means 
nearly  everything  in  the  furniture  of  our  life,  outward  as  well  as 
inward,  is,  as  this  idea  advances,  undergoing  change  of  the  most 
essential  sort,  is  slowly  getting  'overturned,'  as  they  angrily  say, 
which,  in  the  sense  of  being  gradually  turned  over  and  having  its 
vertex  set  where  its  base  used  to  be,  is  indisputably  true,  and  means 
a  '  revolution '  such  as  never  was  before,  or  at  least  since  letters  and 
recorded  history  existed  among  us  never  was.  The  great  Galileo, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  7 

or  numerous  small  Galileos,  have  appeared  in  our  spiritual  world 
too,  and  are  making  known  to  us  that  the  sun  stands  still ;  that,  as 
for  the  sun  and  stars  and  eternal  immensities,  they  do  not  move  at 
all.  and,  indeed,  have  something  else  to  do  than  dance  round  the  like 
of  us  and  our  paltry  little  dog-hutch  of  a  dwelling-place ;  that  it  is 
we  and  our  dog-hutch  that  are  moving  all  this  while,  giving  rise  to 
such  phenomena ;  and  that  if  we  would  ever  be  wise  about  our  sit- 
uation we  must  now  attend  to  that  fact.  I  would  fain  sometimes 
write  a  book  about  all  that,  and  try  to  make  it  plain  to  everybody. 
But,  alas!  I  find  again  there  is  next  to  nothing  to  be  said  about  it  in 
words  at  present — and,  indeed,  till  lately  I  had  vaguely  supposed 
that  everybody  understood  it,  or  at  least  understood  me  to  mean  it, 
which  it  would  appear  that  they  don't  at  all. 

"  A  word  to  express  that  extensive  or  universal  operation  of  re- 
ferring the  motion  from  yourself  to  the  object  you  look  at,  or  vice 
versa  ?  Is  there  none  ? 

' '  A  notable  tendency  of  the  human  being,  in  case  of  mutual  motions 
on  the  part  of  himself  and  another  object,  is  to  misinterpret  the  said 
motion  and  impute  it  to  the  wrong  party.  Riding  in  this  whirled 
vehicle,  how  the  hedges  seem  to  be  in  full  gallop  on  each  side  of  him ; 
how  the  woods  and  houses,  and  all  objects  but  the  fixed  blue  of 
heaven,  seem  to  be  madly  careering  at  the  top  of  their  speed,  storm- 
fully  waltzing  round  transient  centres,  the  whole  earth  gone  into 
menadic  enthusiasm,  he  himself  all  the  while  locked  into  dead  qui- 
escence! And,  again,  if  he  is  really  sitting  still  in  his  railway  car- 
riage at  some  station  when  an  opposite  train  is  getting  under  way, 
his  eye  informs  him  at  once  that  he  is  at  length  setting  out  and  leav- 
ing his  poor  friends  in  a  stagnant  state.  How  often  does  he  com- 
mit this  error  ?  It  is  only  in  exceptional  cases,  when  helps  are  ex- 
pressly provided,  that  he  avoids  it  and  judges  right  of  the  matter. 

"  It  is  very  notable  of  the  outward  eye,  and  would  be  insupportable, 
did  not  the  experience  of  each  man  incessantly  correct  it  for  him,  in 
the  common  businesses  and  locomotions  of  this  world.  In  the  un- 
common locomotion  it  is  not  so  capable  of  correction.  During  how 
many  ages  and  aeons,  for  example,  did  not  the  sun  and  the  moon 
and  the  stars  go  all  swashing  in  their  tremendously  rapid  revolution 
every  twenty-four  hours  round  this  little  indolent  earth  of  ours,  and 
were  evidently  seen  to  do  it  by  all  creatures,  till  at  length  the  Galileo 
appeared,  and  the  Newtons  in  the  rear  of  him!  The  experience 
necessary  to  correct  that  erroneous  impression  of  the  eyesight  was 
not  so  easy  of  attainment.  No.  It  lay  far  apart  from  the  common 
businesses,  and  was  of  a  kind  that  quite  escaped  the  duller  eye.  It 
was  attained  nevertheless;  gradually  got  together  in  the  requisite 
quantity;  promulgated,  too,  in  spite  of  impediments,  Holy  Offices, 
and  such  like;  and  is  now  the  general  property  of  the  world,  and 
only  the  horses  and  oxen  cannot  profit  by  it.  These  are  notable 
facts  of  the  outward  eyesight  and  the  history  of  its  progress  in  sur- 
veying this  material  world. 

"But  now,  will  the  favorable  reader  permit  me  to  suggest  to  him 
a  fact  which,  though  it  has  long  been  present  to  the  consciousness 
of  here  and  there  a  meditative  individual,  has  not,  perhaps,  struck 
the  favorable  reader  hitherto— that  with  the  inward  eyesight  and 


8  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

the  spiritual  universe  there  is  always,  and  has  always  been,  the  same 
game  going  on.  Precisely  a  similar  game,  to  infer  motion  of  your 
own  when  it  is  the  object  seen  that  moves;  and  rest  of  your  own 
with  menadic  storming  of  all  the  gods  and  demons;  while  it  is  your- 
self, with  the  devilish  and  divine  impulses  that  you  have,  that  are 
going  at  express  train  speed!  I  say  the  Galileo  of  this,  many  small 
Galileos  of  this,  have  appeared  some  time  ago — having  at  length 
likewise  collected  (with  what  infinitely  greater  labor,  sorrow,  and 
endurance  than  your  material  GalHeo  needed !)  the  experience  neces- 
sary for  correcting  such  illusions  of  the  inner  eyesight  in  its  turn — 
a  crowning  discovery,  as  I  sometimes  call  it,  the  essence  and  sum- 
mary of  all  the  sad  struggles  and  wrestlings  of  these  last  three  cen- 
turies. No  man  that  reflects  need  be  admonished  what  a  pregnant 
discovery  this  is ;  how  it  is  the  discovery  of  discoveries,  and,  as  men 
become  more  and  more  sensible  of  it,  will  remodel  the  whole  world 
for  us  in  a  most  blessed  and  surprising  manner.  Such  continents 
of  sordid  delirium  (for  it  is  really  growing  now  very  sordid)  will 
vanish  like  a  foul  Walpurgis  night  at  the  first  streaks  of  dawn.  Do 
but  consider  it.  The  delirious  dancing  of  the  universe  is  stilled, 
but  the  universe  itself  (what  scepticism  did  not  suspect)  is  still  all 
there.  God,  heaven,  hell,  are  none  of  them  annihilated  for  us,  any 
more  than  the  material  woods  and  houses.  Nothing  that  was  divine, 
sublime,  demonic,  beautiful,  or  terrible  is  in  the  least  abolished  for 
us  as  the  poor  pre-Galileo  fancied  it  might  be ;  only  their  mad  danc- 
ing has  ceased,  and  they  are  all  reduced  to  dignified  composure; 
any  madness  that  was  in  it  being  recognized  as  our  own  henceforth. 
"What  continents  of  error,  world-devouring  armies  of  illusions 
and  of  foul  realities  that  have  their  too  true  habitation  and  too  sad 
function  among  such,  will  disappear  at  last  wholly  from  our  field  of 
vision,  and  leave  a  serener  veritable  world  for  us  !  Scavengerism, 
which  under  Chadwick  makes  such  progress  in  the  material  streets 
and  beneath  them,  will  alarmingly  but  beneficently  reign  in  the 
spiritual  fields  and  thoroughfares;  and  deluges  of  spiritual  water, 
which  is  light,  which  is  clear,  pious  vision  and  conviction,  will  have 
washed  our  inner  world  clean  too  with  truly  celestial  results  for  us. 
Oh,  my  friend,  I  advise  thee  awake  to  that  fact,  now  discovered  of 
the  inner  eyesight,  as  it  was  long  since  of  the  outer,  that  not  the  sun 
and  the  stars  are  so  rapidly  dashing  round,  nor  the  woods  and  dis- 
tant steeples  and  country  mansions  are  deliriously  dancing  and 
waltzing  round  accidental  centres:  that  it  is  thyself,  and  thy  little 
dog-hole  of  a  planet  or  dwelling-place,  that  are  doing  it  merely. " 

"It  was  God,  I  suppose,  that  made  the  Jewish  people,  and  gave 
them  their  hook-noses,  obstinate  characters,  and  all  the  other  gifts, 
faculties,  tendencies,  and  equipments  they  were  launched  upon  the 
world  with.  No  doubt  about  that  in  any  quarter.  These  were  the 
general  outfit  of  the  Jews,  given  them  by  God  and  none  else  what- 
ever. And  now,  if  in  the  sedulous  use  of  said  equipments,  facul- 
ties, and  general  outfit,  with  such  opportunities  as  then  were,  the 
Jew  people  did  in  the  course  of  ages  work  out  for  themselves  a  set 
of  convictions  about  this  universe  which  were  undeniable  to  them, 
and  of  practices  grounded  thereon  which  were  felt  to  be  salutary 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  9 

and  imperative  upon  them,  were  not  the  Jew  people  bound  at  their 
peril,  temporal  and  eternal,  to  cherish  such  convictions  and  observe 
said  practices  with  whatever  strictest  punctuality  was  possible,  and 
to  be  supremely  thankful  that  they  had  achieved  such  a  possession? 
I  fancy  they  would  do  all  this  with  a  punctuality  and  devoutness 
and  sacred  rigor  in  exact  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  obstinate 
human  method,  piety,  persistence,  or  of  that  Jewhood  and  manhood, 
and  general  worth  and  wisdom,  that  were  in  them;  for  which  be 
they  honored  as  Jews  and  men.  And  if  now  they  please  to  call  all 
this  by  the  highest  names  in  their  vocabulary,  and  think  silently, 
and  reverently  speak  of  it,  as  promulgated  by  their  great  Jehovah 
and  Creator  for  them,  where  was  the  harm  for  the  time  being? 
Was  it  not  intrinsically  true  that  their  and  our  unnamable  Creator 
had  revealed  it  to  them — having  given  them  the  outfit  of  faculties, 
character,  and  situation  for  discerning  and  believing  the  same  ? 
Poor  souls!  they  fancied  their  railway  carriage  (going  really  at  a 
great  rate,  I  think,  and  with  a  terrible  noise  through  the  country) 
was  perfectly  motionless,  and  that  they  at  least  saw  the  landscape, 
discerned  what  landscape  there  was  dancing  and  waltzing  round 
them.  Their  error  was  the  common  one  incidental  to  all  passengers 
and  movers  through  this  world— except  those  overloaded,  busy,  eat- 
ing individuals  that  make  their  transit  sleeping.  Yes:  fall  well 
asleep;  you  will  not  think  the  landscape  waltzes;  you  will  see  no 
landscape,  but  in  their  dim  vastness  the  turbid  whirlpools  of  your 
own  indigestions  and  nightmare  dreams.  You  will  be  troubled  with 
no  misconceptions  of  a  Godhood,  Providence,  Judgment-day,  eter- 
nal soul  of  night,  or  other  sublimity  in  this  world.  Looking  into 
your  own  digestive  apparatus  when  sleep  has  melted  it  into  the  im- 
mense, you  snore  quietly  and  are  free  from  all  that. " 

So  far  Carlyle  had  written,  and  then  threw  it  aside  as  unsatisfac- 
tory, as  not  adequately  expressing  his  meaning,  and  therefore  not  to 
be  proceeded  with.  But  a  very  intelligible  meaning  shines  through 
it;  and  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  found  and  read  it,  he  said  that  it 
contained  his  real  conviction,  a  conviction  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
all  his  thoughts  about  man  and  man's  doings  in  this  world.  A  sense 
lay  upon  him  that  this  particular  truth  was  one  which  he  was  spe- 
cially called  on  to  insist  upon,  yet  he  could  never  get  it  completely 
accomplished.  On  another  loose  sheet  of  rejected  MS.  I  find  the 
same  idea  stated  somewhat  differently: 

"  Singular  what  difficulty  I  have  in  getting  my  poor  message  de- 
livered to  the  world  in  this  epoch:  things  I  imperatively  need  still 
to  say. 

"1.  That  all  history  is  a  Bible — a  thing  stated  in  words  by  me 
more  than  once,  and  adopted  in  a  sentimental  way ;  but  nobody  can 
I  bring  fairly  into  it,  nobody  persuade  to  take  it  up  practically  as  a 
fact. 

"2.  Part  of  the  'grand  Unintelligible,'  that  we  are  now  learning 
spiritually  too  —  that  the  earth  turns,  not  the  sun  and  heavenly 
spheres.  One  day  the  spiritual  astronomers  will  find  that  this  is  the 

II— 1* 


10  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

infinitely  greater  miracle.  The  universe  is  not  an  orrery,  theological, 
or  other,  but  a  universe;  and  instead  of  paltry  theologic  brass  spin- 
dles for  axis,  etc.,  has  laws  of  gravitation,  laws  of  attraction  and 
repulsion;  is  not  a  Ptolemaic  but  a  Newtonian  universe.  As  Hum- 
boldt's  '  Cosmos '  to  a  fable  of  children,  so  will  the  new  world  be  in 
comparison  with  what  the  old  one  was,  etc. 

"  3.  And  flowing  out  of  this,  that  the  work  of  genius  is  not  fiction 
but  fact.  How  dead  are  all  people  to  that  truth,  recognizing  it  in 
word  merely,  not  in  deed  at  all  !  Histories  of  Europe  !  Our  own 
history!  Eheu!  If  we  had  any  vivacity  of  soul  and  could  get  the 
old  Hebrew  spectacles  off  our  nose,  should  we  run  to  Judea  or 
Houndsditch  to  look  at  the  doings  of  the  Supreme?  Who  conquered 
anarchy  and  chained  it  everywhere  under  their  feet?  Not  the  Jews 
with  their  morbid  imaginations  and  foolish  sheepskin  Targums. 
The  Norse  with  their  steel  swords,  guided  by  fresh  valiant  hearts 
and  clear  veracious  understanding,  it  was  tliey,  and  not  the  Jews. 
The  supreme  splendor  will  be  seen  there,  I  should  imagine,  not  in 
Palestine  or  Houndsditch  any  more.  Man  of  genius  to  interpret 
history !  After  interpreting  the  Greeks  and  Romans  for  a  thousand 
years,  let  us  now  try  our  own  a  little.  (How  clear  this  has  been  to 
myself  for  a  long  while!)  Not  one  soul,  I  believe,  has  yet  taken  it 
into  him.  Universities  founded  by  monk  ages  are  not  fit  at  all  for 
this  age.  'Learn  to  read  Greek,  to  read  Latin!'  You  cannot  be 
saved  (religiously  speaking,  too)  with  those  languages.  What  of 
reason  there  was  in  that!  Beautiful  loyalty  to  the  ancients  Dante 
and  Virgil,  il  duca  mio.  Beautiful  truly  so  far  as  it  goes!  But  the 
superf Dotation  is  now  grown  perilous,  deadly,  horrible,  if  you  could 
see  it! 

"Old  piety  was  wont  to  say  that  God's  judgments  tracked  the 
footsteps  of  the  criminal ;  that  all  violation  of  the  eternal  laws,  done 
in  the  deepest  recesses  or  on  the  conspicuous  high  places  of  the 
world,  was  absolutely  certain  of  its  punishment.  You  could  do  no 
evil,  you  could  do  no  good,  but  a  god  would  repay  it  to  you.  It 
was  as  certain  as  that,  when  you  shot  an  arrow  from  the  earth,  gravi- 
tation would  bring  it  back  to  the  earth.  The  all-embracing  law  of 
right  and  wrong  was  as  inflexible,  as  sure  and  exact,  as  that  of  gravi- 
tation. Furies  with  their  serpent -hair  and  infernal  maddening 
.torches  followed  Orestes,  who  had  murdered  his  mother.  In  the 
still  deeper  soul  of  modern  Christendom  there  hung  the  tremendous 
image  of  a  Doomsday — Dies  irce,  dies  ilia — when  the  All-just,  with- 
out mercy  now,  with  only  terrific  accuracy  now,  would  judge  the 
quick  and  the  dead,  and  to  each  soul  measure  out  the  reward  of  his 
deeds  done  in  the  body — eternal  Heaven  to  the  good,  to  the  bad  eter- 
nal Hell.  The  Moslem  too,  and  generally  the  Oriental  peoples,  who 
are  of  a  more  religious  nature,  have  conceived  it  so,  and  taken  it,  not 
as  a  conceit,  but  as  a  terrible  fact,  and  have  studiously  founded,  or 
studiously  tried  to  found,  their  practical  existence  upon  the  same. 

"My  friend,  it  well  behooves  us  to  reflect  how  true  essentially  all 
this  still  is:  that  it  continues,  and  will  continue,  fundamentally  a 
fact  in  all  essential  particulars — its  certainty,  I  say  its  infallible  cer- 
tainty, its  absolute  justness,  and  all  the  other  particulars,  the  eternity 
itself  included.  He  that  has  with  his  eyes  and  soul  looked  into 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  11 

nature  from  any  point — and  not  merely  into  distracted  theological, 
metaphysical,  modern  philosophical,  or  other  cobweb  representations 
t  f  nature  at  second-hand — will  find  this  true,  that  only  the  vesture 
of  it  is  changed  for  us;  that  the  essence  of  it  cannot  change  at  all. 
Banish  all  miracles  from  it.  Do  not  name  the  name  of  God;  it  is 
still  true. 

"Once  more  it  is  in  religion  with  us,  as  in  astronomy — we  know 
now  that  the  earth  moves.  But  it  has  not  annihilated  the  stars  for 
us;  it  has  infinitely  exalted  and  expanded  the  stars  and  universe. 
Once  it  seemed  evident  the  sun  did  daily  rise  in  the  east;  the  big  sun 
— a  sun-god — did  travel  for  us,  driving  his  chariot  over  the  crystal 
floor  all  days :  at  any  rate,  the  sun  went.  Now  we  find  it  is  only  the 
earth  that  goes.  So,  too,  all  mythologies,  religious  conceptions,  etc., 
we  begin  to  discover,  are  the  necessary  products  of  man's  God-made 
mind." 

I  need  add  little  to  these  two  fragments,  save  to  repeat  that  they 
are  the  key  to  Carlyle's  mind;  that  the  thought  which  they  contain, 
although  nowhere  more  articulately  written  out,  governed  all  his 
judgments  of  men  and  things.  In  this  faith  he  had  "trampled  down 
his  own  spiritual  dragons."  In  this  faith  he  interpreted  human  his- 
tory, which  history  witnessed  in  turn  to  the  truth  of  his  convictions. 
He  saw  that  now  as  much  as  ever  the  fate  of  nations  depended  not 
on  their  material  development,  but,  as  had  been  said  in  the  Bible, 
and  among  all  serious  peoples,  on  the  moral  virtues — courage,  verac- 
ity, purity,  justice,  and  good  sense.  Nations  where  these  were  hon- 
ored prospered  and  became  strong;  nations  which  professed  well 
"with  their  lips,  while  their  hearts  were  set  on  wealth  and  pleasure, 
were  overtaken,  as  truly  in  modern  Europe  as  in  ancient  Palestine, 
by  the  judgment  of  God. 

"I  should  not  have  known  what  to  make  of  this  world  at  all," 
Carlyle  once  said  to  me,  "if  it  had  not  been  for  the  French  Revolu- 
tion." 

This  might  be  enough  to  say  on  Carlyle's  religion ;  but  there  is 
one  aspect  of  religion  on  which  every  one  who  thinks  at  all  will  wish 
to  know  his  opinion.  What  room  could  there  be  for  prayer  in  such 
a  scheme  of  belief  as  his?  In  one  form  or  other  it  has  been  a  uni- 
versal difficulty.  How  should  ignorant  man  presume  to  attempt  to 
influence  the  will  of  his  Creator,  who  by  the  necessity  of  his  nature 
cannot  change,  and  must  and  will  on  all  occasions  and  to  all  persons 
do  what  is  just  and  right  ? 

Reason  cannot  meet  the  objection.  Yet  nevertheless  men  of  the 
highest  powers  have'  prayed,  and  continue  to  pray.  I  am  permitted 
to  publish  the  following  letters,  which  show  what  Carlyle  thought 
about  it  in  1870.  And  as  he  thought  in  1870,  he  thought  in  1828. 
His  mind  when  it  was  once  made  up  never  wavered,  never  even 
varied. 


12  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

From  George  A.  Duncan  to  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"4  Eyre  Place,  Edinburgh:  June  4,  1870. 

"  Honored  Sir,  —  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  but  my  grandfather,  Dr. 
Henry  Duncan,  of  Ruthwell,  was  not,  and  it  is  a  good  deal  on  that 
ground  that  I  rest  my  plea  for  addressing  you.  Of  all  the  things  I 
possess  there  is  none  I  value  more  than  a  copy  of  your  translation 
of  'Meister's  Apprenticeship,'  presented  to  my  grandfather  by  you, 
and  bearing  on  its  fly-leaf  these  to  me  thrice-precious  words  :  '  To 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Duncan,  from  his  grateful  and  affectionate  friend  T. 
Carlyle.'  I  show  it  to  all  my  friends  with  the  utmost  pride.  But  I 
have  another  plea.  I  was  one  of  those  Edinburgh  students  to 
whom,  as  a  father  to  his  sons,  you  addressed  words  which  I  have 
read  over  at  least  six  times,  and  mean,  while  I  live,  to  remember  and 
obey.  I  have  still  one  plea  more.  You  know  that  in  this  country, 
when  people  are  perplexed  or  in  doubt,  they  go  to  their  minister  for 
counsel:  you  are  my  minister,  my  only  minister,  my  honored  and 
trusted  teacher,  and  to  you  I,  having  for  more  than  a  year  back 
ceased  to  believe  as  my  fathers  believed  in  matters  of  religion,  and 
being  now  an  inquirer  in  that  field,  come  for  light  on  the  subject  of 
prayer.  There  are  repeated  expressions  in  your  works  which  con- 
vince me  that  in  some  form  or  other  you  believe  in  prayer;  and  the 
fact  that  the  wisest  men,  Luther,  Knox,  Cromwell,  and  that  greater 
Man  whose  servants  they  were,  were  pre-eminently  men  of  prayer, 
is  at  variance  with  the  thought  which  still  forces  itself  upon  me  — 
that  to  attempt  to  change  the  Will  of  Him  who  is  Best  and  Wisest 
(and  what  is  prayer,  if  it  is  not  that?)  is  in  the  last  degree  absurd. 
The  only  right  prayer,  it  seems  to  me,  is  'Thy  will  be  done;'  and 
that  is  a  needless  one,  for  God's  will  shall  assuredly  be  done  at  any 
rate.  Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  you  will  kindly  write  me  a  few 
lines  throwing  light  on  this  subject?  I  have  read  Goethe's  '  Con- 
fessions of  a  Fair  Saint,'  and  also  what  you  say  with  regard  to 
Cromwell's  prayers,  but  still  I  have  not  been  able  to  arrive  at  a  con- 
viction. Lest  these  remarks  should  seem  to  you  intolerably  shal- 
low, I  must  inform  you  that  I  am  only  twenty. 

"  Would  it  interest  you  in  any  measure  to  read  some  letters  written 
by  you  to  Mr.  Robert  Mitchell  when  this  old  century  was  in  its 
teens,  and  thus  recall  from  your  own  beloved  past  a  thousand  per- 
sons, thoughts,  and  scenes  and  schemes  by-gone?  Mr.  M.  left  my 
grand-uncle,  Mr.  Craig,  one  of  his  trustees,  and  among  the  papers 
which  thus  fell  into  Mr.  Craig's  hands  were  several  letters  from  you 
to  Mr.  Mitchell.  Mr.  C.'s  daughters  lately  gave  them  to  one  of  my 
sisters,  and  I  believe  that,  if  you  expressed  the  slightest  wish  to  see 
them,  I  should  be  able  to  persuade  her  to  let  me  send  them  to  you, 
though  she  guards  them  very  jealously. 

"Believe  me,  yours  ever  gratefully, 

.  A.  DUNCAN." 


Thomas  Carlyle  to  George  A.  Duncan. 

"  Chelsea:  June  9,  187(X 

"Dear  Sir,  —  You  need  no  apology  for  addressing  me;  your  letter 
itself  is  of  amiable  ingenuous  character;  pleasant  and  interesting  to 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE.  13 

me  in  no  common  degree.  I  am  sorry  only  that  I  cannot  set  at  rest, 
or  settle  into  clearness,  your  doubts  on  that  important  subject.  What 
I  myself  practically,  in  a  half-articulate  way,  believe  on  it  I  \vill  try 
to  express  for  you. 

"First,  then,  as  to  your  objection  of  setting  up  our  poor  wish  or 
will  in  opposition  to  the  will  of  the  Eternal,  I  have  not  the  least 
word  to  say  in  contradiction  of  it.  And  this  seems  to  close,  and 
does,  in  a  sense,  though  not  perhaps  in  all  senses,  close  the  question 
of  our  prayers  being  granted,  or  what  is  called  'heard;'  but  that  is 
not  the  whole  question. 

"  For,  on  the  other  hand,  prayer  is,  and  remains  always,  a  native 
and  deepest  impulse  of  the  soul  of  man;  and,  correctly  gone  about, 
is  of  the  very  highest  benefit  (nay,  one  might  say,  indispensability) 
to  every  man  aiming  morally  high  in  this  world.  No  prayer  no  re- 
ligion, or  at  least  only  a  dumb  and  lamed  one!  Prayer  is  a  turning 
of  one's  soul,  in  heroic  reverence,  in  infinite  desire  and  endeavor, 
towards  the  Highest,  the  All-Excellent,  Omnipotent,  Supreme.  The 
modern  Hero,  therefore,  ought  not  to  give  up  praying,  as  he  has 
latterly  all  but  done. 

"  Words  of  prayer,  in  this  epoch,  I  know  hardly  any.  But  the 
act  of  prayer,  in  great  moments,  I  believe  to  be  still  possible;  and 
that  one  should  gratefully  accept  such  moments,  and  count  them 
blest,  when  they  come,  if  come  they  do — which  latter  is  a  most  rig- 
orous preliminary  question  with  us  in  all  cases.  '  Can  I  pray  in  this 
moment '  (much  as  I  may  wish  to  do  so)V  '  If  not,  then  NO!'  I  can 
at  least  stand  silent,  inquiring,  and  not  blasphemously  lie  in  this 
Presence ! 

"On  the  whole,  Silence  is  the  one  safe  form  of  prayer  known  to 
me,  in  this  poor  sordid  era — though  there  are  ejaculatory  words  too 
which  occasionally  rise  on  one,  with  a  felt  propriety  and  veracity; 
words  very  welcome  in  such  case!  Prayer  is  the  aspiration  of  our 
poor  struggling  heavy-laden  soul  towards  its  Eternal  Father;  and, 
with  or  without  words,  ought  not  to  become  impossible,  nor,  I  per- 
suade myself,  need  it  ever.  Loyal  sons  and  subjects  can  approach 
the  King's  throne  who  have  no  '  request '  to  make  there,  except  that 
they  may  continue  loyal.  Cannot  they? 

' '  This  is  all  I  can  say  to  you,  my  good  young  friend ;  and  even 
this,  on  my  part  and  on  yours,  is  perhaps  too  much.  Silence,  si- 
lence! '  The  Highest  cannot  be  spoken  of  in  words,'  says  Goethe. 
Nothing  so  desecrates  mankind  as  their  continual  babbling,  both 
about  the  spc;ik;ible  and  the  unspeakable,  in  this  bad  time! 

"  Your  grandfather  was  the  amiablest  and  kindliest  of  men ;  to  me 
pretty  much  a  unique  in  those  young  years,  the  one  cultivated  man 
whom  I  could  feel  myself  permitted  to  call  friend  as  well.  Never 
can  I  forget  that  Ruthwell  Manse,  and  the  beautiful  souls  (your 
grandmother,  your  grand-aunts,  and  others)  who  then  made  it  bright 
to  me.  All  vanished  now,  all  vanished ! 

"Please  tell  me  whose  son  you  are — not  George  John's,  I  think, 
but  Wallace's,  whom  I  can  remember  only  as  a  grave  boy?  Also 
whether  bonny  little  'Barbara  Duncan'  is  still  living;  or,  indeed,  if 
she  ever  lived  to  be  your  aunt?  I  have  some  sad  notion  No.  I  will 
not  trouble  you  about  the  Mitchell  letters:  I  wrote  many  letters  to 


14  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

the  good  Mitchell;  but  I  fear  now  they  were  all  of  a  foolish  type, 
fitter  to  burn  than  to  read  at  present.  Tell  me  also,  if  you  like,  a 
little  more  about  yourself,  your  pursuits  and  endeavors,  your  in- 
tended course  in  the  world.  You  perceive  I  expect  from  you  one 
more  letter  at  least,  though  it  is  doubtful  whether  I  can  answer  any 
more,  for  reasons  yon  may  see  sufficiently! 
"  Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

"Yours,  with  sincere  good  wishes, 

"T.  CARLYLE." 


CHAPTER  II. 
A.D.  1828.     .ET.  33. 

I  HATE  already  described  Craigenputtock  as  the  dreariest  spot  in 
all  the  British  dominions.  The  nearest  cottage  is  more  than  a  mile 
from  it;  the  elevation,  700  feet  above  the  sea,  stunts  the  trees  and 
limits  the  garden  produce  to  the  hardiest  vegetables.  The  house  is 
gaunt  and  hungry-looking.  It  stands  with  the  scanty  fields  attached 
as  an  island  in  a  sea  of  morass.  The  landscape  is  unredeemed 
either  by  grace  or  grandeur,  mere  undulating  hills  of  grass  and 
heather,  with  peat  bogs  in  the  hollows  between  them.  The  belts  of 
firs  which  now  relieve  the  eye  and  furnish  some  kind  of  shelter 
were  scarcely  planted  when  the  Carlyles  were  in  possession.  No 
wonder  Mrs.  Carlyle  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  making  her  home 
in  so  stern  a  solitude,  delicate  as  she  was,  with  a  weak  chest,  and 
with  the  fatal  nervous  disorder  of  which  she  eventually  died  already 
beginning  to  show  itself.  Yet  so  it  was  to  be.  She  had  seen  the 
place  in  March  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  and  then,  probably,  it 
had  looked  its  very  worst.  But  in  May,  when  they  came  to  settle, 
the  aspect  would  have  scarcely  been  mended.  The  spring  is  late  in 
Scotland ;  on  the  high  moors  the  trees  are  still  bare.  The  fields  are 
scarcely  colored  with  the  first  shoots  of  green,  and  winter  lingers  in 
the  lengthening  days  as  if  unwilling  to  relax  its  grasp.  To  Mrs. 
Carlyle  herself  the  adventure  might  well  seem  desperate.  She  con- 
cealed the  extent  of  her  anxiety  from  her  husband,  though  not  en- 
tirely from  others.  Jeff rey  especially  felt  serious  alarm.  He  feared, 
not  without  reason,  that  Carlyle  was  too  much  occupied  with  his 
own  thoughts  to  be  trusted  in  such  a  situation  with  the  charge  of  a 
delicate  and  high-spirited  woman,  who  would  not  spare  herself  in 
the  hard  duties  of  her  situation. 

The  decision  had  been  made,  however,  and  was  not  to  be  recon- 
sidered. Jeffrey  could  only  hope  that  the  exile  to  Siberia  would  be 
of  short  duration.  When  the  furniture  at  Comely  Bank  was  packed 
and  despatched,  he  invited  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  stay  with  him  in 
Moray  Place  while  the  carts  were  on  the  road.  After  two  days 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  15 

they  followed,  and  in  the  last  week  of  May  they  were  set  down  at 
the  door  of  the  house  which  was  now  to  be  their  home.  The  one 
bright  feature  in  the  situation  to  Carlyle  was  the  continual  presence 
of  his  brother  at  the  farm.  The  cottage  in  which  Alexander  Carlyle 
lived  was  attached  to  the  premises;  and  the  out-door  establishment 
of  field,  stall,  and  dairy  servants  was  common  to  both  households. 
I  resume  the  letters. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigenputtock :  June  10,  1828. 

"My  dear  Jack, — "We  received  your  much-longed-for  letter  two 
days  before  leaving  Edinburgh  in  such  a  scene  of  chaotic  uproar  as 
I  had  never  witnessed,  and  do  earnestly  hope  I  shall  never  witness 
again,  for  the  house  was  full  of  mats  and  deal  boxes  and  straw  and 
packthread,  and  there  was  a  wrapping  and  a  stitching  and  a  ham- 
mering and  tumbling  ;  and  Alick  and  Jamie  came  with  six  carts  to 
take  away  our  goods;  and  all  things  were  wrenched  from  their  old 
fixtures,  and  dispersed  and  scattered  asunder,  or  united  only  by  a 
common  element  of  dust  and  noise.  What  would  the  sack  of  a  city 
be,  when  the  dismantling  of  a  house  is  such !  From  all  packers  and 
carpenters,  and  Sittings  by  night  or  day,  good  Lord  deliver  us. 

"  I  have  waited  here  above  two  weeks  in  the  vain  hope  that  some 
calmness  would  supervene.  But  painters  and  joiners  still  desecrate 
every  corner  of  our  dwelling,  and  I  write  in  the  midst  of  confusion 
worse  confounded  as  better  than  not  writing  at  all. 

"We  have  arrived  at  Craigenputtock  and  found  much  done,  but 
still  much  to  do ;  we  must  still  rush  and  run  with  carts  and  saddle- 
horses  to  Dumfries  every  second  day,  and  rejoice  when  we  return  if 
the  course  of  events  have  left  us  a  bed  to  sleep  on.  However,  by  the 
strength  of  men's  heads  and  arms  a  mighty  improvement  is  and  will 
be  accomplished,  and  one  day  we  calculate  a  quiet  house  must  stand 
dry  and  clean  for  us  amid  this  wilderness ;  and  the  philosopher  will 
hoe  his  potatoes  in  peace  on  his  own  soil,  and  none  to  make  him 
afraid.  Had  we  come  hither  out  of  whim  one  might  have  sickened 
and  grown  melancholy  over  such  an  outlook;  but  we  came  only  in 
search  of  food  and  raiment,  and  will  not  start  at  straws.  Away  then 
with  Unmuth  und  Verdruss!  Man  is  born  to  trouble  and  toil  as  the 
sparks  fly  upwards.  Let  him  toil,  therefore,  as  his  best  is,  and  make 
no  noise  about  the  matter.  Is  the  day  wearisome,  dusty,  and  full 
of  midges  that  the  galled  limbs  are  like  to  fail? 

1  F.in  guter  Abend  kommt  heran, 
Wenn  ich  den  ganzen  Tag  gethan. ' .  .  . 

Next  evening,  after  the  arrival  of  your  letter,  I  wrote  to  Messrs.  Black 
&  Young,  booksellers,  London  (of  the  Foreign  Review),  directing 
them  to  pay  twenty  out  of  forty  pounds  which  they  had  ordered  me 
to  draw  on  them  for,  into  the  hands  of  Messrs.  Ransome  &  Co.,  to  be 
paid  to  the  Baron  von  Eichthal  at  Munich.1  I  hope  the  money  may 
have  reached  you  by  this  time.  I  sent  these  booksellers  a  long  paper 

1  With  whom  John  Carlyle  was  then  living. 


16  LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CABLYLE. 

on  Goethe  for  their  next  still  imprinted  number;  the  forty  pounds 
was  for  an  essay  on  his  'Helena.'  I  meant  to  send  them  another 
piece  (on  the  life  of  Heyne)  for  this  number;  but  where  is  the  cunning 
that  could  write  a  paper  here  in  the  midst  of  uncreated  night?  But  I 
am  getting  very  sick,  and  must  leave  you  till  after  dinner,  and  go  stick 
some  rows  of  pease  which  are  already  flourishing  in  our  new  garden. 

"...  Alas !  Jack,  there  is  no  sticking  of  pease  for  me  at  this  hour, 
the  cutting-tools  being  all  in  active  operation  elsewhere ;  so  I  sit  down  to 
talk  with  you  again,  still  impransus,  though  in  better  health  than  I  was 
an  hour  ago.  Indeed,  I  have  been  in  considerably  better  health  ever 
since  I  came  hither,  and  found  my  red  chestnut  Irish  doctor  (though 
ill)  saddled,  waiting  for  me  in  his  stall.  By  degrees  I  do  think  I 
shall  grow  as  sound  as  another  man;  and  then,  when  the  German 
doctor  is  settled  within  sight  of  me  at  Dumfries,1  and  we  see  him 
twice  a  week,  and  all  is  fixed  on  its  own  footing,  will  not  times  be 
brighter  than  they  have  been  with  us?  One  blessing  we  have  always 
to  be  thankful  for — unity  and  brotherly  love,  which  makes  us,  though 
a  struggling,  still  a  united  family;  and  are  we  not  all  spared  together 
in  this  wonderful  existence  still  to  hope  as  we  struggle?  Let  us  ever 
be  grateful  to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  and  struggle  onward  in  the  path 
He  directs.  Some  traces  of  our  presence  may  also  be  left  behind  us  in 
this  pilgrimage  of  life,  some  grains  added  to  the  great  pyramid  of 
human  endeavor.  What  more  has  man  to  wish  for? 

"Of  the  Craig  o'  Putta  I  cannot  yet  rightly  speak  till  we  have 
seen  what  adjustment  matters  will  assume.  Hitherto,  to  say  truth, 
all  prospers  as  well  as  we  could  have  hoped.  The  house  stands 
heightened  and  white  with  rough-cast,  a  light  hewn  porch  in  front 
and  cans  on  the  chimney-heads;  and  within  it  all  seems  firm  and 
sound.  During  summer,  as  we  calculate,  it  will  dry ;  and  the  smoke, 
we  have  reason  to  believe,  is  now  pretty  well  subdued,  so  that  on  this 
side  some  satisfaction  is  to  be  looked  for.  We  appear  also  to  have 
been  rather  lucky  in  our  servants.  An  active  maid  came  with  us 
from  Edinburgh.  A  dairywoman,  also  of  good  omen,  conies  to  us 
to-morrow  from  Thornhill ;  and  a  good-humored  slut  of  a  byre-wom- 
an was  retained  after  half  a  year's  previous  trial.  Then  we  have  two 
sufficient  farming -men  and  a  bonneted  stripling  skilful  in  sheep, 
from  this  glen.  Alick  himself  is  an  active  little  fellow  as  ever  bent 

,  and,  though  careworn,  is  diligent,  hearty,  and  compliant.  He 

lives  in  his  little  room,  which  is  still  but  half  furnished  like  the  rest 
of  the  house.3  Mary  has  been  visiting  at  Scotsbrig,  and  is  now  learn- 
ing to  sew  at  Dumfries.  Jane  the  lesser  (Jean)  has  taken  her  place 
here  and  furnishes  butter  and  afterings  (jibbings)  *  for  tea,  though  we 
are  still  in  terrible  want  of  a  cheese-board,  and  by  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  shall  get  one  to-morrow  afternoon.  Jane  (the  greater)  is 
surveying  all  things,  proving  all  things,  that  she  may  hold  fast  to 
what  is  good.  She  watches  over  her  joiners  and  painters  with  an 
eye  like  any  hawk's,  from  which  nothing  crooked,  unplumb,  or  other- 
wise irregular  can  hide  itself  in  a  moment.  And  then,  to  crown  our 

1  John  Carlyle's  present  intention.         2  Xot  yet  in  occupation  of  his  own  cottage. 
3  Amiandule  expression,  meaning— what?    The  explanatory  word  itself  requires  ex- 
plaining.    . 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  17 

felicity,  we  have  two  fowls  hatching  iu  the  wood,  a  duck  with  twelve 
eggs,  and  a  hen  with  (if  I  mistake  not)  eleven;  from  which,  for  they 
are  properly  fed  and  cared  for,  great  things  are  expected.  Nay,  it 
was  but  these  three  nights  ago  that  we  slew  a  Highland  stot  and 
salted  him  in  a  barrel,  and  his  puddings  even  now  adorn  the  kitchen 
ceiling. 

' '  From  Edinburgh  or  other  peopled  quarters  of  the  world  I  have 
yet  heard  nothing.  We  left  Edward  Irving  there  preaching  like  a 
Boanerges,  with  (as  Henry  Inglis  very  naively  remarked)  the  town 
divided  about  him,  '  one  party  thinking  that  he  was  quite  mad,  an- 
other that  he  was  an  entire  humbug. '  For  my  own  share,  I  would 
not  be  intolerant  of  any  so  worthy  a  man;  but  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that,  if  Irving  is  on  the  road  to  truth,  it  is  no  straight  one.  We 
had  a  visit  from  him,  and  positively  there  does  seem  a  touch  of  ex- 
treme exaltation  in  him.  I  do  not  think  he  will  go  altogether  mad, 
yet  what  else  he  will  do  I  cannot  so  well  conjecture.  Cant  and 
enthusiasm  are  strangely  commingled  in  him.  He  preaches  in  steam- 
boats and  all  open  places,  wears  clothes  of  an  antique  cut  (his  waist- 
coat has  flaps  or  tails  midway  down  the  thigh),  and  in  place  of  ordi- 
nary salutation  bids  'the  Lord  bless  you.'  I  hear  some  faint  rumor 
of  his  outheroding  Herod  since  we  left  the  North,  but  we  have  not 
yet  got  our  newspaper,  and  so  know  nothing  positive.  So  'the 
Laurt  bless  HIM  !!  for  the  present;  and  if  you  pass  through  London 
on  your  return,  you  are  engaged  to  go  and  see  him,  and,  I  think  he 
said,  '  abide  with  him '  or  '  tarry  with  him '  on  your  way. 

"The  last  two  nights  we  spent  in  Edinburgh  were  spent — where 
think  you?  In  the  house  of  Francis  Jeffrey,  surely  one  of  the  kind- 
est little  men  I  have  ever  in  my  life  met  with.  He  and  his  house- 
hold (wife  and  daughter)  have  positively  engaged  to  come  and  pay 
us  a  visit  here  this  very  summer!  I  am  to  write  him  an  article  on 
Burns  as  well  as  on  Tasso.  But  alas,  alas!  all  writing  is  as  yet  far 
from  my  hand.  Walter  Scott  I  did  not  see  because  he  was  in  Lon- 
don; nor  hear  of,  perhaps  because  he  was  a  busy  or  uncourteous 
man,  so  I  left  his  Goethe  medals  to  be  given  him  by  Jeffrey.1  Lock- 
hart  had  written  a  kind  of  '  Life  of  Burns,'  and  men  in  general  were 
making  another  uproar  about  Burns.  It  is  this  book,  a  trivial  one 
enough,  which  I  am  to  pretend  reviewing.  Further,  except  contin- 
ued abuse  of  Leigh  Hunt  for  his  '  Lord  Byron,  and  Some  of  his  Con- 
temporaries,' there  seemed  no  news  in  the  literary  world,  or  rather 
universe;  for  was  there  ever  such  a  world  as  it  has  grown? 

"Be  steady  and  active  and  of  good  cheer,  my  dear  Doctor,  and 
come  home  and  live  beside  us,  and  let  us  all  be  as  happy  as  we  can. 
' '  I  am  ever  your  true  brother, 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

The  carpenters  and  plasterers  were  at  last  dismissed.  Craigen- 
puttock  became  tolerable,  if  not  yet  "cosmic;"  and  as  soon  as  all  was 
quiet  again,  Carlyle  settled  himself  to  work."  Tasso  was  abandoned, 

'  They  had  been  originally  intrusted  to  Wilson.  How  they  had  been  passed  to  Jef- 
frey I  do  not  know. 

a  It  was  now  that  the  "bread  "  problem  had  to  be  encountered,  of  which  Miss  Jews- 
bury  speaks  in  her  '-Recollections  of  Mrs.  Carlyle."  Carlyle  could  not  eat  such  bread 


18  LIFE   OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

or  at  least  postponed,  but  the  article  on  Burns  was  written — not  so 
ungraciously,  so  far  as  regarded  Lockhart,  as  the  epithet  "trivial" 
which  had  been  applied  to  his  book  might  have  foreboded.  But  it 
is  rather  on  Burns  himself  than  on  his  biographer's  account  of  him 
that  Carlyle's  attention  was  concentrated.  It  is  one  of  the  very  best 
of  his  essays,  and  was  composed  with  an  evidently  peculiar  interest, 
because  the  outward  circumstances  of  Burns's  life,  his  origin,  his 
early  surroundings,  his  situation  as  a  man  of  genius  born  in  a  farm- 
house not  many  miles  distant,  among  the  same  people  and  the  same 

as  the  Craigcnputtock  servants  could  bake  for  him,  or  as  could  be  bought  at  Dumfries, 
and  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  to  make  it  herself.  Miss  'Smith,  an  accomplished  lady  living  at 
Carlisle,  has  kindly  sent  me  a  letter  in  which  the  story  is  characteristically  told  by 
Mrs.  Carlyle  herself.  It  is  dated  January  11, 1857 — after  an  interval  of  nearly  thirty 
years.  Mrs.  Carlyle -writes : 

"So  many  talents  are  wasted,  so  many  enthusiasms  turned  to  smoke,  so  many  lives 
spilled  for  want  of  a  little  patience  and  endurance,  for  want  of  understanding  and  laying 
to  heart  what  you  have  so  well  expressed  in  your  verses— the  meaning  of  the  Present — 
for  want  of  recognizing  that  it  is  not  the  greatness  or  littleness  of  '•  the  duty  nearest 
hand,"  but  the  spirit  in  which  one  does  it,  that  makes  one's  doing  noble  or  mean.  I 
can't  think  how  people  who  have  any  natural  ambition  and  any  sense  of  power  in  them 
escape  going  mad  in  a  world  like  this  without  the  recognition  of  that.  I  know  I  was 
very  near  mad  when  I  found  it  out  for  myself  (as  one  has  to  find  out  for  one's  self  every- 
thing that  is  to  be  of  any  real  practical  use  to  one). 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  came  into  my  head?  Perhaps  it  may  be  of  comfort  to  you  in 
similar  moments  of  fatigue  and  disgust.  I  had  gone  with  my  husband  to  live  on  a  little 
estate  of  peat  bog  that  had  descended  to  me  all  the  way  down  from  John  Welsh  the 
Covenanter,  who  married  a  daughter  of  John  Knox.  Thai  didn't,  I  am  ashamed  to 
say,  make  me  feel  Craigenputtock  a  whit  less  of  a  peat  bog,  and  a  most  dreary,  untow- 
ard place  to  live  at.  In  fact,  it  was  sixteen  miles  distant  on  every  side  from  all  the 
conveniences  of  life,  shops,  and  even  post-office.  Further,  we  were  very  poor,  and, 
further  and  worst,  being  an  only  child,  and  brought  up  to  'great  prospects,'  I  was 
sublimely  ignorant  of  every  branch  of  useful  knowledge,  though  a  capital  Latin  scholar 
and  very  fair  mathematician ! !  It  behooved  me  in  these  astonishing  circumstances  to 
learn  to  sew!  Husbands,  I  was  shocked  to  find,  wore  their  stockings  into  holes,  and 
were  always  losing  buttons,  and /was  expected  to  'look  to  all  that;'  also  it  behooved 
me  to  learn  to  cook!  no  capable  servant  choosing  to  live  at  such  an  out-of-the-way 
place,  and  my  husband  having  bad  digestion,  which  complicated  my  difficulties  dread- 
fully. The  bread,  above  all,  brought  from  Dumfries,  'soured  on  his  stomach'  (oh. 
Heaven !),  and  it  was  plainly  my  duty  as  a  Christian  wife  to  bake  at  home.  So  I  sent 
for  Cobbett's  '  Cottage  Economy, '  and  fell  to  work  at  a  loaf  of  bread.  But  knowing  noth- 
ing about  the  process  of  fermentation  or  the  heat  of  ovens,  it  came  to  pass  that  my 
loaf  got  put  into  the  oven  at  the  time  that  myself  ought  to  have  been  put  into  bed ;  and 
I  remained  the  only  person  not  asleep  in  a  house  in  the  middle  of  a  desert.  One  o'clock 
struck,  and  then  two,  and  then  three;  and  still  I  was  sitting  there  in  an  immense  soli- 
tude, my  whole  body  aching  with  weariness,  my  heart  aching  with  a  sense  of  forlorn- 
ness  and  degradation.  That  I,  who  had  been  so  petted  at  home,  whose  comfort  had 
been  studied  by  everybody  in  the  house,  who  had  never  been  required  to  do  anything 
but  cultivate  my  mind,  should  have  to  pass  all  those  hours  of  the  night  in  watching  a 
loaf  of  bread— which  mightn't  turn  out  bread  after  all !  Such  thoughts  maddened  me, 
till  I  laid  down  my  head  on  the  table  and  sobbed  aloud.  It  was  then  that  somehow  the 
idea  of  Benvenuto  Cellini  sitting  up  all  night  watching  his  Perseus  in  the  furnace  came 
into  my  head,  and  suddenly  I  asked  myself,  'After  all,  in  the  sight  of  the  Upper 
Powers,  what  is  the  mighty  difference  between  a  statue  of  Perseus  and  a  loaf  of  bread, 
so  that  each  be  the  thing  one's  hand  has  found  to  do?  The  man's  determined  will,  his 
energy,  his  patience,  his  resource,  were  the  really  admirable  things,  of  which  his 
statue  of  Perseus  was  the  mere  chance  expression.  If  he  had  been  a  woman  living  at 
Craigenputtock,  with  a  dyspeptic  husband,  sixteen  miles  from  a  baker,  and  he  a  bad 
one.  all  these  same  qualities  would  have  come  out  more  fitly  in  &  good  loaf  of  bread. 

"  I  cannot  express  what  consolation  this  germ  of  an  idea  spread  over  my  uncongenial 
life  during  the  years  we  lived  at  that  savage  place,  where  my  two  immediate  predeces- 
sors had  gone  mad,  and  the  third  had  taken  to  drink." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  19 

associations  as  were  so  familiar  to  himself,  could  not  fail  lo  make 
him  think  often  of  himself  while  he  was  writing  about  his  country- 
man. How  this  article  was  judged  by  the  contemporary  critics  will 
be  presently  seen.  For  himself,  it  is  too  plain  that  before  he  came 
to  the  end  of  it  the  pastoral  simplicities  of  the  moorland  had  not 
cured  Carlyle  of  his  humors  and  hypochondrias.  He  had  expected 
that  change  of  scene  would  enable  him  to  fling  off  his  shadow.  His 
shadow  remained  sticking  to  him;  and  the  poor  place  where  he  had 
cast  his  lot  had,  as  usual,  to  bear  the  blame  of  his  disappointment. 
In  his  diary  there  stands  a  note:  "Finished  a  paper  on  Burns,  Sep- 
tember 16, 1828,  at  this  Devil's  Den,  Craigenputtock. " 

Meanwhile,  though  he  complained  of  hearing  little  from  the  world 
outside,  his  friends  had  not  forgotten  him.  Letters  came  by  the 
carrier  from  Dumfries,  and  the  Saturday's  post  was  the  event  of  the 
week.  Jeffrey  especially  was  affectionate  and  assiduous.  He  re- 
proached Carlyle  for  not  writing  to  him,  complained  of  being  so 
soon  forgotten,  and  evidently  wished  to  keep  his  friend  as  close  to 
him  as  possible.  The  papers  on  German  literature  had  brought  a 
pamphlet  upon  Jeffrey  about  Kant,  from  "some  horrid  German 
blockhead;"  but  he  was  patient  under  the  affliction  and  forgave  the 
cause.  King's  College  had  been  set  on  foot  in  London  on  orthodox 
principles,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  the 
bishops.  He  offered  to  recommend  Carlyle  to  them  as  Professor  of 
Mysticism;  although  mysticism  itself,  he  said,  he  should  like  less 
than  ever  if  it  turned  such  a  man  as  Carlyle  into  a  morbid  misan- 
thrope, which  seemed  to  be  its  present  effect.  Sir  Walter  had  re- 
ceived his  medals  and  had  acknowledged  them;  had  spoken  of 
Goethe  as  his  master,  and  had  said  civil  things  of  Carlyle,  which 
was  more  than  he  had  deserved.  Jeffrey  cautioned  Carlyle  to  be 
careful  of  the  delicate  companion  who  had  been  trusted  to  him;  of- 
fered his  services  in  any  direction  in  which  he  could  be  of  use,  and 
throughout,  and  almost  weekly,  sent  to  one  or  other  of  the  "her- 
mits "  some  note  or  letter,  short  or  long,  but  always  sparkling,  airy, 
and  honestly  affectionate.  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
print  these  letters  in  extcnso;  for  they  would  show  that  Jeffrey  had 
a  genuine  regard  and  admiration  for  Carlyle,  which  was  never  com- 
pletely appreciated.  It  was  impossible  from  their  relative  positions 
that  there  should  not  be  at  least  an  appearance  of  patronage  on 
Jeffrey's  part.  The  reader  has  probably  discovered  that  Carlyle 
was  proud,  and  proud  men  never  wholly  forgive  those  to  whom 
they  feel  themselves  obliged. 

Late  in  the  summer  there  came  a  letter  from  the  young  Charles 
Buller,  now  grown  to  intellectual  manhood,  and  thinking  about  en- 
tering public  life.  He  and  his  old  tutor  had  not  forgotten  each  other. 
Carlyle  had  watched  him  through  Cambridge,  and  had  written  to 


20  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

caution  him  against  certain  forms  of  Liberal  opinion  towards  which 
Mrs.  Strachey  had  seen,  with  alarm,  that  her  brilliant  nephew  was 
tending.  Buller  replies  : 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"August  31,  1828. 

"I  can  hardly  say  I  feel  sorry  for  your  disappointment  respect- 
ing St.  Andrews  and  the  London  University,  since  you  seem  to  have 
been  utterly  careless  of  success.  The  former,  I  suppose,  went  almost 
solely  by  ministerial  influence;  and  as  my  father  has  not  quite  ar- 
rived at  the  degree  of  Toryism  and  baseness  which  would  make  a 
man  support  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  government,  he  could  hardly 
have  done  any  good  in  that  way.  You  have,  I  see,  left  Edinburgh. 
Which  and  where  is  the  awfully  cacophonious  place  where  you 
have  taken  up  your  residence?  I  would  venture  to  hint  that  you 
have  kept  a  perplexing  silence  respecting  the  posture  of  your  pres- 
ent life. 

"I  see  the  London  University  allows  people  to  give  lectures  in 
some  manner  of  connection  with  them  without  being  appointed  by 
them.  Suppose  you  were  to  propose  to  give  lectures  on  German 
literature  and  philosophy,  I  should  think  you  would  get  an  innumer- 
able quantity  of  pupils.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  new  '  King's 
College '  is  closed  to  all  teachers  by  M.  A.'s  and  Reverends.  If  not, 
I  should  think  you  might  possibly  stand  a  good  chance  of  getting 
some  appointment  there,  and  it  would  certainly  be  a  great  thing  to 
have  one  person  in  that  establishment  who  knows  anything  beyond 
that  slender  and  antique  lore  which  the  two  venerable  universities 
of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  impart  to  their  eleves.  But  I  only  men- 
tion this,  for  I  am  utterly  ignorant  whether  this  new  King's  College 
is  to  teach  anything  beyond  loyalty  and  Church-of-Englandarianism, 
or  to  have  any  teachers  except  a  Greek  and  Latin  lecturer,  and  per- 
haps one  in  Divinity  to  explain  the  Catechism.  But,  if  you  think  it 
worth  while,  I  would  obtain  information  from  the  Bishop  of  Llandaff, 
who  is  the  best  of  the  people  who  have  anything  to  do  with  it. 

"  We  forwarded  your  letter  to  Mrs.  Strachey,  who,  I  dare  say,  will 
not  have  acknowledged  it,  because  she  has  just  had  the  misfortune 
of — a  tenth  child.  We  have  some  expectation  of  seeing  Miss  Kirk- 
patrick  soon,  but  she  is  in  great  trouble.  Her  brother  William,  per- 
haps you  already  know,  died  in  May  after  a  lingering  and  painful 
illness.  His  poor  young  wife  has  gone  mad,  and  Kitty,  after  all 
this,  has  been  involved  in  a  very  wearisome  and  distressing  dispute 
with  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick's  sister  respecting  the  care  of  her  brother's 
children. 

"And  now  I  refer  once  more  to  what  you  said  in  your  letter  to 
me  about  myself.  You  seem  to  hope  that  my  Utilitarianism  and 
blankness  in  religion  will  not  last  long.  If  they  are  wrong,  that  is, 
not  a  true  conclusion  of  my  reason,  I  hope  that  I  may  abandon  them, 
and  that  soon.  But  I  have  adopted  Utilitarianism  because  I  think 
it  affords  the  best  explanation  of  men's  opinions  on  morals,  and  be- 
cause on  it  may  be  built,  I  think,  the  best  framework  on  which  we 
may  form  and  instruct  the  natural  feelings  of  men  to  do  that  which 
produces  peace  and  good-will  among  them. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  21 

"I  think,  moreover,  that  the  doctrines  of  the  Utilitarians,  whether 
promulgated  under  that  name  or  under  others,  have  already  done  no 
little  good  in  shaming  the  world  out  of  some  of  its  worst  theories  of 
right  and  wrong  respecting  most  important  matters  of  practice. 
That  many  of  the  Utilitarians  are  grossly  intolerant  I  am  very  ready 
to  admit.  But  is  not  this  the  invariable  concomitant  (except  in  the 
very  first  geniuses)  of  zeal  for  the  truth?  and  especially  so  when 
men  have,  like  the  Utilitarians,  to  keep  their  new  principles  by  main 
force  of  logic  against  the  intolerance  of  the  stupid  champions  of 
orthodoxy,  and  the  general  disfavor  even  of  the  better  and  wiser 
part  of  the  community? 

"With  regard  to  my  blankness  in  religion — you  call  by  a  mild 
name  a  set  of  opinions  to  which  men  usually  attach  a  name  that 
burns  worse  than  Inquisitor's  fire  and  fagot — I  have  fixed  myself 
in  that,  because  I  have  not  yet  found  that  faith  which  I  could  be- 
lieve, and  none  among  the  creeds  of  this  world  that  I  could  wish  to 
be  true.  I  could  picture  to  myself  a  bright  creed  truly;  but  to  think 
that  it  could  be  real  because  it  was  pretty  would  be  childish  indeed. 

"  But  my  steed  awaits  me. 

"Believe  me,  ever  yours  sincerely, 

"CHARLES   BULLER." 

July  this  year  had  been  intensely  hot.  Jeffrey  had  complained 
of  being  stifled  in  the  courts,  and  for  the  moment  had  actually  en- 
vied his  friends  their  cool  mountain  breezes.  The  heat  had  been 
followed  in  August  by  rain.  It  had  been  "the  wettest,  warmest 
summer  ever  known."  Alexander  Carlyle  had  been  living  hitherto 
with  his  brother,  the  cottage  which  he  was  to  occupy  with  one  of 
his  sisters  not  being  yet  ready.  The  storms  had  delayed  the  masons; 
while  the  article  on  Burns  was  being  written  the  premises  were  still 
littered  with  dirt,  and  Carlyle's  impatience  with  small  misfortunes 
perhaps  had  inspired  the  unpleasant  epithet  of  Devil's  Den  with 
which  he  had  already  christened  his  home.  He  appears  to  have  re- 
mained, however,  in  a — for  him — tolerable  humor. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"August  25, 1828. 

"  In  this  mansion  we  have  had  a  battle  like  that  of  St.  George  and 
the  Dragon.  Neither  are  we  yet  conquerors.  Smoke  and  wet  and 
chaos.  The  first  we  have  subdued;  the  last  two  we  are  subduing. 
May  the  Lord  keep  all  Christian  men  from  flitting. 

"As  to  literature,  which  also  is  bread-making,  I  have  done  noth- 
ing since  Whitsunday  but  a  shortish  paper  on  Heyne  *  for  the 
Foreign  Review  which  will  appear  m  No.  4.  A  long  article  on 
Goethe  is  just  publishing  in  No.  3, a  which  has  been,  for  want  of 
cash,  I  believe,  exceedingly  delayed ;  and  at  this  very  date  I  am  very 
busy,  and  third  part  done,  with  a  '  fair,  full,  and  free '  essay  on  Burns 
for  the  Edinburgh  Review.  None  can  say  how  bilious  I  am,  and  am 

>  "Miscellanies,"  vol.  ii.  p.  75.  »  Ibid.,  vol.  i.  p.  233. 


32  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

like  to  be;  but  I  have  begun  to  ride  daily  on  Larry, 'and  so  Jeffrey 
shall  have  his  article  at  the  appointed  time.  That  wonderful  little 
man  is  expected  here  very  soon  with  Weib  und  Kind.  He  takes  no 
little  interest  in  us,  writes  often,  and  half  hates,  half  loves,  me  with 
the  utmost  sincerity.  Nay,  he  even  offers  me,  in  the  coolest,  lightest 
manner,  the  use  of  his  purse,  and  evidently  rather  wishes  I  would 
use  it.  Proh  dcA/n  atgue  hominum  fidem  !  This  from  a  Scotchman 
and  a  lawyer!  Jane  is  in  considerable  trepidation  getting  the  house 
fully  equipped  for  these  august  visitors.  Surely  I  think  she  will 
succeed.  Nay,  already  we  are  very  smart.  Here  is  a  drawing-room 
with  Goethe's  picture  in  it,  and  a  piano,  and  the  finest  papering  on 
the  walls;  and  I  write  even  now  behind  it,  in  my  own  little  library, 
out  of  which  truly  I  can  see  nothing  but  a  barn-roof,  tree  tops,  and 
empty  hay-carts,  and  under  it  perhaps  a  stagnant  midden,  cock  with 
hens,  overfed  or  else  dazed  with  wet  and  starvation;  but  within 
which  I  may  see  a  clear  fire  (of  peats  and  Sanquhar  coals),  with  my 
desk  and  books  and  every  accoutrement  I  need  in  fairest  order. 
Shame  befall  me  if  I  ought  to  complain,  except  it  be  of  my  own 
stupidity  and  pusillanimity !  Unhappily,  we  still  want  a  front  door 
road,  and  the  lawn  is  mostly  a  quagmire. 

"  Several  weeks  ago  I  had  a  long  letter  from  Goethe "  enclosing 
another  from  Dr.  Eckermann,  his  secretary,  full  of  commendations 
and  congratulations  about  my  criticism  of  his  '  Helena. '  I  ought 
to  have  written  to  him  long  ago,  but  cannot  and  must  not,  till  I 
have  done  v/ith  Burns.  If  you  pass  within  any  manageable  distance 
of  Weimar,  you  will  surely  wait  on  this  sage  man.  Seriously,  I  ven- 
erate such  a  person  considerably  more  not  only  than  any  king  or  em- 
peror, but  than  any  man  that  handles  never  so  expertly  the  tools  of 
kings  and  emperors.  Sein  Excellenz  already  knows  you  by  name, 
and  will  welcome  you  in  his  choicest  mood. 

"Did  you  hear  of  the  horrible  accident  at  Kirkcaldy?  Irving 
was  going  to  preach  there,  and  the  kirk  fell  and  killed  eight-and- 
twenty  persons.  '  What  think'st  a  he  means,'  said  my  father, '  gawn 
up  and  down  the  country  levelling  and  screeching  like  a  wild 
bear? '  Heaven  only  knows  completely.  Walter  Welsh  wonders 
they  do  not '  lay  him  up. '  I  add  no  more. 

"Your  brother, 

"  T.  CARLYLE." 

The  Jeffreys  were  to  have  come  in  September,  while  the 
weather  was  still  fine,  but  they  had  gone  first  to  the  Western  High- 
lands, and  their  visit  was  put  off  till  the  next  month.  Meanwhile 
the  article  on  Burns  had  been  sent  off,  and  before  the  appearance  of 
the  visitors  at  Craigenputtock  a  sharp  altercation  had  commenced 
between  the  editor  and  his  contributor  on  certain  portions  of  it, 
which  was  not  easily  ended.  On  the  article  itself  the  world  has 
pronounced  a  more  than  favorable  verdict.  Goethe  considered  it 
so  excellent  that  he  translated  long  passages  from  it,  and  published 

'The  Irish  horse  of  "genius,"  who  had  thrown  him  at  Hoddam  Hill. 

»  I  find  no  copy  of  this  letter.     The  original  appears  to  be  lost  among  the  rest. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  23 

them  in  his  collected  works ;  *  but,  as  Goethe  had  observed  about 
Schiller,  contemporaries  always  stumble  at  first  over  the  writings  of 
an  original  man.  The  novelty  seems  like  presumption.  The 
editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  found  the  article  long  and  diffuse, 
though  he  did  not  deny  that  ' '  it  contained  much  beauty  and 
felicity  of  diction."  He  insisted  that  it  must  be  cut  down — cut 
down  perhaps  to  half  its  dimensions.  He  was  vexed  with  Carlyle 
for  standing,  as  he  supposed,  in  his  own  light,  misusing  his  talents 
and  throwing  away  his  prospects.  He  took  the  opportunity  of 
reading  him  a  general  lecture. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  treat  me  as  something  worse 
than  an  ass  when  I  say  that  I  am  firmly  persuaded  the  great  source 
of  your  extravagance,  and  of  all  that  makes  your  writings  intoler- 
able to  many  and  ridiculous  to  not  a  few,  is  not  so  much  any  real 
peculiarity  of  opinions  as  an  unlucky  ambition  to  appear  more 
original  than  you  are,  or  the  humbler  and  still  more  delusive  hope 
of  converting  our  English  intellects  to  the  creed  of  Germany  and 
being  the  apostle  of  another  Reformation.  I  wish  to  God  I  could 
persuade  you  to  fling  away  these  affectations,  and  be  contented  to 
write  like  your  famous  countrymen  of  all  ages:  as  long  at  least  as 
you  write  to  your  countrymen  and  for  them.  The  nationality  for 
which  you  commend  Burns  so  highly  might  teach  you,  I  think, 
that  there  are  nobler  tasks  for  a  man  like  you  than  to  vamp  up  the 
vulgar  dreams  of  these  Dousterswivels  you  are  so  anxious  to  cram 
down  our  throats;  but  which  I  venture  to  predict  no  good  judge 
among  us  will  swallow,  and  the  nation  at  large  speedily  reject 
with  loathing." 

So  spoke  the  great  literary  authority  of  the  day.  The  adventur- 
ous Prince  who  would  win  the  golden  water  on  the  mountain's  crest 
is  always  assailed  by  cries  that  he  is  a  fool  and  must  turn  back 
from  the  enchanted  stones  which  litter  the  track  on  which  he  is  as- 
cending. They  too  have  once  gone  on  the  same  quest.  They  have 
wanted  faith,  and  are  become  blocks  of  rock  echoing  common- 
places; and,  if  the  Prince  turns  his  head  to  listen  to  them,  he  too  be- 
comes as  they.  Jeffrey  tried  to  sweeten  his  admonitions  by  com- 
pliments on  the  article  upon  Goethe;  but  here  too  he  soon  fell  to 
scolding.  "  Though  I  admire,"  he  said,  "  the  talent  of  your  paper, 
I  am  more  and  more  convinced  of  the  utter  fallacy  of  your  opinions 
and  the  grossness  of  your  idolatry.  I  predict  too,  with  full  and 
calm  assurance,  that  your  cause  is  hopeless,  and  that  England  never 
will  admire,  or  indeed  endure,  your  German  divinities.  It  thinks 
better  and  more  of  them  indeed  than  it  ever  will  again.  Your  elo- 
quence and  ingenuity  a  little  mask  their  dull  extravagance  and  tire- 

i  Goethe's  "Works,"  vol.  xxsiii.  pp.  181  et  seq. 


24  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

some  presumption.  As  soon  as  they  appear  in  their  own  persons 
everybody  will  laugh.  I  am  anxious  to  save  you  from  this  fceda 
superstitio.  The  only  harm  it  has  yet  done  you  is  to  make  you  a 
little  verbose  and  prone  to  exaggeration.  There  are  strong  symp- 
toms of  both  in  your  Burns.  I  have  tried  to  stanch  the  first,  but 
the  latter  is  in  the  grain;  and  we  must  just  risk  the  wonder  and  the 
ridicule  it  may  bring  on  us." 

This  was  not  merely  the  protest  of  an  editor,  but  the  reproach  of 
a  sincere  friend.  Jeffrey  ardently  desired  to  recommend  Carlyle  and 
to  help  him  forward  in  the  world.  For  Carlyle's  own  sake,  and 
still  more  for  the  sake  of  his  young  and  delicate  relative,  he  was 
vexed  and  irritated  that  he  should  have  buried  himself  at  Craigen- 
puttock.  He  imagined,  and  in  a  certain  sense  with  justice,  that 
Carlyle  looked  on  himself  as  the  apostle  of  a  new  faith  (to  a  clever 
man  of  the  world  the  most  absurd  and  provoking  of  illusions),  which 
the  solitude  of  the  moors  only  tended  to  encourage. 

With  October  the  promised  visit  was  accomplished.  How  he 
came  with  Mrs.  Jeffrey  and  his  daughter,  how  the  big  carriage  stood 
wondering  how  it  had  got  there  in  the  rough  farm-yard,  how  Car- 
lyle and  he  rode  about  the  country,  with  what  astonishment  he  learned 
that  his  dinner  had  been  cooked  for  him  by  his  hostess's  own  hands, 
how  he  delighted  them  all  in  the  evenings  with  his  brilliant  anec- 
dotes and  mimicries — all  this  has  been  told  elsewhere  and  need  not 
be  repeated.  Those  two  days  were  a  sunny  island  in  the  general 
dreariness,  an  Indian  summer  before  winter  cut  the  Carlyles  off 
from  the  outside  world  and  wrapped  them  round  with  snow  and 
desolation.  During  the  greater  part  of  the  Jeffreys'  stay  contro- 
verted subjects  were  successfully  avoided.  But  Carlyle's  talk  had 
none  the  less  provoked  Jeffrey.  He  himself,  with  a  spiritual  creed 
which  sat  easy  on  him,  believed  nevertheless  that  it  was  the  business 
of  a  sensible  man  to  make  his  way  in  the  world,  use  his  faculties  to 
practical  purposes,  and  provide  for  those  who  were  dependent  upon 
him.  He  saw  his  friend  given  over,  as  he  supposed,  to  a  self-delusion 
which  approached  near  to  foolish  vanity,  to  have  fallen  in  love  with 
clouds  like  Ixion,  and  to  be  begetting  chimeras  which  he  imagined 
to  be  divine  truths.  All  this  to  a  clear  practical  intelligence  like 
that  of  Jeffrey  was  mere  nonsense,  and  on  the  last  night  of  the  stay 
he  ended  a  long  argument  in  a  tone  of  severe  reproach  for  which  he 
felt  himself  afterwards  obliged  to  apologize.  His  excuse,  if  excuse 
was  needed,  was  a  genuine  anxiety  for  Carlyle's  welfare,  and  an 
equal  alarm  for  his  wife,  whose  delicacy,  like  enough,  her  husband 
was  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts  to  consider  suffi- 
ciently. "  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  think,"  he  said,  in  a  letter  which 
he  wrote  after  he  had  left  them,  "  that  either  you  or  Mrs.  Carlyle  are 
naturally  placed  at  Craigenputtock ;  and  though  I  know  and  rever- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  25 

ence  the  feelings  which  have  led  you  to  fix  there  for  the  present,  I 
must  hope  it  will  not  be  long  necessary  to  obey  them  in  that  retreat. 
I  dare  not  advise,  and  do  not  even  know  very  well  what  to  suggest 
to  a  mind  so  constituted  as  yours ;  but  I  shall  be  proud  to  give  you 
my  views  upon  anything  that  occurs  to  yourself,  and  pray  under- 
stand that  few  things  in  this  world  can  give  me  more  gratification 
than  being  able  to  be  of  any  serious  use  to  you.  Take  care  of  the 
fair  creature  who  has  trusted  herself  so  entirely  to  you.  Do  not  let 
her  ride  about  in  the  wet,  nor  expose  herself  to  the  wintry  winds 
that  will  by-and-by  visit  your  lofty  retreat;  and  think  seriously  of 
taking  shelter  in  Moray  Place  l  for  a  month  or  two,  and  in  the 
meantime  be  gay  and  playful  and  foolish  with  her,  at  least  as  often 
as  you  require  her  to  be  wise  and  heroic  with  you.  You  have  no 
mission  upon  earth,  whatever  you  may  fancy,  half  so  important  as 
to  be  innocently  happy — and  all  that  is  good  for  you  of  poetic  feel- 
ing and  sympathy  with  majestic  nature  will  come  of  its  own  accord 
without  your  straining  after  it.  That  is  my  creed,  and,  right  or 
wrong,  I  am  sure  it  is  both  a  simpler  and  a  humbler  one  than 
yours. " 

The  trouble  with  the  article  on  Burns  was  not  over.  Jeffrey,  as 
editor,  had  to  consider  the  taste  of  the  great  Liberal  party  in  litera- 
ture and  politics;  and  to  disciples  of  Bentham,  as  indeed  to  the  aver- 
age reader  of  any  political  persuasion,  Carlyle's  views  were  neither 
welcome  nor  intelligible.  When  the  proof-sheets  came,  he  found 
"the  first  part  cut  all  into  shreds — the  body  of  a  quadruped  with 
the  head  of  a  bird,  a  man  shortened  by  cutting  out  his  thighs  and 
fixing  the  knee-caps  on  his  hips."  Carlyle  refused  to  let  it  appear 
"in  such  a  horrid  shape."  He  replaced  the  most  important  pas- 
sages, and  returned  the  sheets  with  an  intimation  that  the  paper  might 
be  cancelled,  but  should  not  be  mutilated.  Few  editors  would  have 
been  so  forbearing  as  Jeffrey  when  so  audaciously  defied.  He  com- 
plained, but  he  acquiesced.  He  admitted  that  the  article  would  do 
the  Review  credit,  though  it  would  be  called  tedious  and  sprawling 
by  people  of  weight  whose  mouths  he  could  have  stopped.  He 
had  wished  to  be  of  use  to  Carlyle  by  keeping  out  of  sight  in  the 
Renew  his  mannerism  and  affectation;  but,  if  Carlyle  persisted,  he 
might  have  his  way. 

Carlyle  was  touched ;  such  kindness  was  more  than  he  had  looked 
for.  The  proud  self-assertion  was  followed  by  humility  and  almost 
penitence,  and  the  gentle  tone  in  which  he  wrote  conquered  Jeffrey 
in  turn.  Jeffrey  said  that  he  admired  and  approved  of  Carlyle's 
letter  to  him  in  all  respects.  "The  candor  and  sweet  blood"  which 
was  shown  in  it  deserved  the  highest  praise;  and,  as  the  dying  pa- 

1  Jeffrey's  house  in  Edinburgh. 
II.-2 


26  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

gan  said  in  the  play,  "If  these  are  Christian  virtues  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian,"  so  Jeffrey,  hating  as  he  did  what  he  called  Carlyle's  mysticism, 
was  ready  to  exclaim,  if  these  were  mystic  virtues  he  was  mystic. 
"But  your  virtues  are  your  own,"  he  said,  "and  you  possess  them 
not  in  consequence  of  your  mysticism,  but  in  spite  of  it.  You  shall 
have  anything  you  like.  I  cannot  chaffer  with  such  a  man,  or  do 
anything  to  vex  him;  and  you  shall  write  mysticism  for  me  if  it  will 
not  be  otherwise,  and  I  will  print  it  too,  at  all  hazards,  with  very 
few  and  temperate  corrections.  I  think  you  have  a  great  deal  of 
eloquence  and  talent,  and  might  do  considerable  things  if —  But  no 
matter;  I  will  not  tire  of  you;  after  all,  I  believe  there  are  many 
more  things  as  to  which  we  agree  than  about  which  we  differ,  and  the 
difference  is  not  radical,  but  formal  chiefly." 


CHAPTER  III. 
A.D.  1829.    .ST.  34. 

So  the  winter  settled  down  over  Craigenputtock.  The  weekly 
cart  struggled  up,  when  possible,  from  Dumfries  with  letters  and  par- 
cels, but  storms  and  rain  made  the  communications  more  and  more 
difficult.  Old  James  Carlyle  came  over  from  Scotsbrig  for  a  week 
after  the  Jeffreys  went,  an  Edinburgh  friend  followed  for  three 
days  more,  and  after  that  few  faces  save  those  of  their  own  house- 
hold were  seen  at  the  Carlyles'  door.  Happily  for  him,  he  was  fully 
employed.  The  Foreign  Review  and  the  Edinburgh  gave  him  as 
much  work  as  he  could  do.  He  had  little  need  of  money;  Scotsbrig 
supplied  him  with  wheat  flour  and  oatmeal,  and  the  farm  with  milk 
and  eggs  and  hams  and  poultry.  There  was  little  that  needed  buy- 
ing save  tea  and  sugar  and  tobacco ;  and  his  finances  (for  his  articles 
were  long  and  handsomely  paid  for)  promised  for  a  time  to  be  on  an 
easy  footing,  in  spite  of  the  constant  expenses  of  his  brother  John  at 
Munich.  There  were  two  horses  in  the  stable  —  Larry,  the  Irish 
horse  of  ' '  genius, "  and  Harry,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  pony.  *  In  fine  weather 

1  Carlyle  told  me  a  story  of  these  two  horses,  Illustrative  of  the  sense  of  humor  in 
animals.  I  cannot  date  it  either  by  day  or  year,  and  therefore  I  give  it  in  a  note. 
They  had  a  vicious  old  sow,  who  was  the  tyrant  and  the  terror  of  the  farm -yard.  One 
day  Carlyle  was  smoking  his  pipe  outside  his  front  door,  when  he  heard  shrieks  of  rage 
and  agony  combined  from  the  back  of  the  house.  Ho  went  round  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  A  deep  drain  had  been  opened  across  the  yard,  the  bottom  of  which  was 
stiff  clay.  Into  this,  by  some  unlucky  curiosity,  the  sow  had  been  tempted  to  descend, 
and,  being  there,  found  a  difficulty  in  getting  out.  The  horses  were  loose.  The  pony 
saw  the  opportunity  —  the  sow  was  struggling  to  extricate  herself.  The  pony  stood 
over  her,  and  at  each  effort  cuffed  her  back  again  with  a  stroke  of  the  fore-hoof.  The 
sow  was  screaming  more  from  fury  than  pain.  Larry  stood  by  watching  the  perform- 
ance and  smiling  approval,  nodding  his  head  every  time  that  the  beast  was  knocked 
back  into  the  clay,  with  (as  Carlyle  declared)  the  most  obvious  and  exquisite  percep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  the  situation. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  27 

they  occasionally  rode  or  walked  together.  But  the  occasions  grew 
rarer  and  rarer.  Carlyle  was  essentially  solitary.  He  went  out 
in  all  weathers,  indifferent  to  wet,  and,  in  spite  of  his  imagined 
ill-health,  impervious  to  cold.  But  he  preferred  to  be  alone  with 
his  thoughts,  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  left  at  home  to  keep  the 
house  in  proper  order.  She  by  education,  and  he  by  tempera- 
ment, liked  everything  to  be  well  kept  and  trim.  He  was  ex- 
tremely dainty  about  his  food.  He  did  not  care  for  delicacies,  but 
cleanliness  and  perfect  cookery  of  common  things  he  always  insisted 
on ;  and  if  the  porridge  was  smoked,  or  the  bread  heavy,  or  the  but- 
ter less  than  perfect,  or  a  plate  or  a  dish  ill-washed,  he  was  entirely 
intolerable.  Thus  the  necessary  imperfections  of  Scotch  farm-ser- 
vant girls  had  to  be  supplemented  by  Mrs.  Carlyle  herself.  She 
baked  the  bread,  she  dressed  the  dinner  or  saw  it  dressed,  she  cleaned 
the  rooms.  Among  her  other  accomplishments,  she  had  to  learn  to 
milk  the  cows,  in  case  the  byre-woman  should  be  out  of  the  way,  for 
fresh  milk  was  the  most  essential  article  of  Carlyle's  diet.  Nay,  it 
might  happen  that  she  had  to  black  the  grates  to  the  proper  polish, 
or  even  scour  the  floors  while  Carlyle  looked  on  encouragingly  with 
his  pipe.  In  addition  to  this,  she  had  charge  of  dairy  and  poultry ; 
not  herself  necessarily  making  butter  or  killing  fowls,  but  directing 
what  was  to  be  done,  and  seeing  that  it  was  done  properly.  Her 
department,  in  short,  was  the  whole  establishment.  This  winter  she 
was  tolerably  well,  and  as  long  as  her  health  lasted  she  complained 
of  nothing.  Her  one  object  was  to  keep  Carlyle  contented,  to  pre- 
vent him  from  being  fretted  by  any  petty  annoyance,  and  prevent 
him  also  from  knowing  with  how  much  labor  to  herself  his  own 
comfort  was  secured. 

Thus  the  months  passed  on  pleasantly.  The  "tempests,"  about 
which  Jeffrey  had  been  so  anxious,  howled  over  the  moors,  but  did 
not  much  affect  them.  Carlyle's  letters  were  written  in  fair  spirits. 
The  Devil's  Den  had  become  a  tolerable  home.  Mrs.  Carlyle,  it 
seems,  when  she  could  spare  time,  galloped  down  alone  to  Temp- 
land  (fifteen  miles)  to  see  her  mother. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigenputtock:  November  26, 1828. 

"This  house,  bating  some  outskirt  things,  which  must  be  left  till 
spring,  is  really  substantial,  comfortable,  and  even  half  elegant.  I 
sit  here  in  my  little  library  and  laugh  at  the  howling  tempests,  for 
there  are  green  curtains  and  a  clear  fire  and  papered  walls.  The 
'  old  kitchen,'  also,  is  as  tight  a  dining-room  as  you  would  wish  for 
me,  and  has  a  black,  clean-barred  grate,  at  which,  when  filled  with 
Sanquhar  coals,  you  might  roast  Boreas  himself.  The  good  wife,  too, 
is  happy  and  contented  with  me  and  her  solitude,  which  I  believe  is 
not  to  be  equalled  out  of  Sahara  itself.  You  cannot  figure  the  still- 
ness of  these  moors  in  a  November  drizzle.  Nevertheless,  I  walk 


28  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

often  under  cloud  of  night,  in  good  Ecclefechan  clogs,  down  as  far 
as  Carstammon  Burn,  sometimes  to  Sandy  Wells,  conversing  with 
the  void  heaven  in  the  most  pleasant  fashion.  Besides,  Jane  also 
has  a  pony  now,  which  can  canter  to  perfection  even  by  the  side  of 
Larry.  To-morrow  she  is  going  over  to  Templand  with  it,  and  it  is 
by  her  that  I  send  this  letter.  Grace,  our  servant,  a  tight,  tidy, 
careful,  sharp  -  tempered  woman,  is  the  only  other  inmate  of  the 
house. 

"  I  write  hard  all  day,  and  then  Jane  and  I,  both  learning  Span- 
ish for  the  last  month,  read  a  chapter  of  '  Don  Quixote '  between  din- 
ner and  tea,  and  are  already  half  through  the  first  volume,  and  eager 
to  persevere.  After  tea  I  sometimes  write  again,  being  dreadfully 
slow  at  the  business,  and  then  generally  go  over  to  Alick  and  Mary 
and  smoke  my  last  pipe  with  them ;  and  so  I  end  the  day,  having 
done  little  good,  perhaps,  but  almost  no  ill  that  I  could  help  to  any 
creature  of  God's. 

"  So  pass  our  days,  except  that  sometimes  I  stroll  with  my  axe  or 
bill  in  the  plantations,  and  when  I  am  not  writing  I  am  reading. 
We  had  Henry  Inglis  here  for  three  days,  and  our  father  for  a  week 
lately,  both  of  whom  seemed  highly  contented  with  this  wonderful 
Craig.  Alick  and  Mary,  you  already  understand,  live  in  their  own 
cottage,  or  rather  double  farm-house;  for  were  it  once  dried  it  will 
be  the  bieldest,  tightest  mansion  of  its  sort  within  some  miles  of  it. 
They  have  two  man-servants  and  two  maid-servants;  are  fattening, 
or  merely  boarding,  quantities  of  black  cattle ;  have  almost  a  dozen 
pigs,  and  plenty  of  weak  corn,  and  about  eighty  cart-loads  of  pota- 
toes, to  say  nothing  of  turnip  acres,  to  feed  them  with.  Alick  is 
about  thatching  a  cattle  shed,  long  since  built  (of  dry  stones),  down 
near  the  moor,  and  we  have  had  roadsmen  for  many  weeks  gravel- 
ling the  front  of  this  door  (a  most  marked  improvement),  making  us 
a  proper  road  to  it,  and  thoroughly  repairing  the  old  road.  Thus, 
you  see,  chaos  is  rolling  himself  back  from  us  by  degrees,  and  all 
winter  we  are  to  have  stone-diking  and  planting  and  draining  (if  I 
can  write  for  the  cash),  till  by-and-by  I  think  this  hermitage  will 
positively  become  a  very  tolerable  place.  For  the  rest,  we  drink  tea 
together  every  Sunday  night  and  live  in  good  brotherhood,  having 
no  neighbors  that  do  not  wish  us  well. 

"As  to  my  writing,  it  is  only  at  present  a  most  despicable  'ar- 
ticle' entitled  'German  Playwrights,'  with  which  I  expect  to  be 
done  in  a  week. 

"  Next  I  mean  to  write  one  on  Novalis,  and  probably  a  larger  one 
on  Voltaire.  Some  day  these  roads  will  be  made  and  skylights 
mended,  and  all  tight  and  pargeted,  and  I  shall  have  leisure  to 
cease  reviewing,  and  try  to  give  work  for  reviewing. 

' '  Our  news,  beyond  our  own  household,  are  mostly  of  a  sombre 
cast.  James  Anderson,  the  young  Laird  of  Straquhar,  our  kind 
neighbor  and  acquaintance,  died  after  two  days'  illness  a  few  weeks 
ago.  John  Grier,  of  the  Grove,  is  gone  to  his  long  home.  He  also 
died  suddenly,  but  like  a  just  man,  and  with  entire  composure.  Is 
not  this  world  a  mystery,  and  grand  with  terror  as  well  as  beauty? ' 

1  III  a  previous  letter,  Carlyle,  speaking  Of  another  death,  says,  "0  God,  it  is  a 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  29 

My  letter,  you  will  see,  ends  in  sable,  like  the  life  of  man.  My  own 
thoughts  grow  graver  every  day  I  live." 

When  Carlyle  was  in  good  spirits,  his  wife  had  a  pleasant  time 
with  him.  "Ill  to  live  wi',"  impatient,  irritable  over  little  things, 
that  he  always  was;  but  he  was  charming,  too:  no  conversation,  in 
my  experience,  ever  equalled  his;  and,  unless  the  evil  spirit  had  pos- 
session of  him,  even  his  invectives,  when  they  burst  out,  piled  them- 
selves into  metaphors  so  extravagant  that  they  ended  in  convulsions 
of  laughter  with  his  whole  body  and  mind,  and  then  all  was  well 
again.  Their  Spanish  studies  together  were  delightful  to  both. 
His  writing  was  growing  better  and  better.  She,  the  most  watch- 
ful and  severest  of  critics,  who  never  praised  where  praise  was 
not  deserved,  was  happy  in  the  fulfilment  of  her  prophecies,  and 
her  hardest  work  was  a  delight  to  her  when  she  could  spare  her 
husband's  mind  an  anxiety  or  his  stomach  an  indigestion.  At 
Christmas  she  had  a  holiday,  going  down  to  her  mother  and  grand- 
father at  Templand.  But  while  away  among  her  own  people  her 
heart  was  on  the  Craig.  This  is  one  of  the  letters  which  Carlyle 
himself  annotated,  in  the  sad  days  when  she  was  lost  to  him  for- 
ever: 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Templand:  December 30,  1828. 

"Goody,  Goody,  dear  Goody, — You  said  you  would  weary,  and 
I  do  hope  in  my  heart  you  are  wearying.  It  will  be  so  sweet  to 
make  it  all  up  to  you  in  kisses  when  I  return.  You  will  take  me 
and  hear  all  niy  bits  of  experiences,  and  your  heart  will  beat  when 
you  find  how  I  have  longed  to  return  to  you.  Darling,  dearest, 
loveliest,  '  The  Lord  bless  you. '  *  I  think  of  you  every  hour,  every 
moment.  I  love  you  and  admire  you,  like — like  anything.  My 
own  Good-good.  But  to  get  away  on  Sunday  was  not  in  my  pow- 
er: my  mother  argued,  entreated,  and  finally  grat  [wept].  I  held 
out  on  the  ground  of  having  appointed  Alick  to  meet  me  at  church ; 
but  that  was  untenable.  John  Kerr2  could  be  sent  off  at  break  of 
day  to  tell  that  I  could  not  come.  I  urged  that  the  household 
would  find  themselves  destitute  of  every  Christian  comfoart,  unless 
I  were  home  before  Wednesday.  That  could  be  taken  care  of  by 
sending  anything  that  w-as  wanted  from  here.  Tea,  sugar,  butch- 
er's meat,  everything  was  at  my  service.  Well,  but  I  wanted,  I 
said,  to  be  your  first  foot  on  New  Year's  day.  I  might  be  gratified 
in  this  also.  She  would  hire  a  postchaise  and  take  me  over  for 
that  day  on  condition  I  returned  at  night ! 

' '  In  short,  she  had  a  remedy  ready  for  everything  but  death,  and 

fearful  world,  this  we  live  in,  a  fllm  spread  over  bottomless  abysses,  into  which  no 
pyo  has  pierced."  The  same  expression  occurs  in  the  "French  Revolution."  The 
image  had  already  impressed  itself  into  his  mind. 

1  -'Poor  Edward  Irviug's  practice  and  locution,  suspect  of  being  somewhat  too 
solemn  !— T.  C." 

2  The  Templand  man-servant. 


80  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

I  could  not,  without  seeming  very  unkind  and  ungracious,  refuse  to 
stay  longer  than  I  proposed.  So  I  write  this  letter  '  with  my  own 
hand'  [Ed.  Irving],  that  you  may  not  be  disappointed  from  day  to 
day;  but  prepare  to  welcome  me  'in  your  choicest  mood'  on  Sun- 
day. If  the  day  is  at  all  tolerable,  perhaps  Alick  or  you  will  meet 
me  at  church.  Mrs.  Crichton,  of  Dabton,  was  very  pressing  that 
you  and  I  should  spend  some  days  with  them  just  now,  '  when  their 
house  was  full  of  company.'  But  I  assured  her  it  would  be  losing 
labor  to  ask  you.  However,  by  way  of  consolation,  I  have  agreed 
to  '  refresh '  a  party  for  her  with  my  presence  on  Friday,  and  held 
out  some  hope  that  you  would  visit  them  at  your  leisure.  '  I  am 
sure  the  kindness  of  those  people — '  '  The  Lord  bless  them!' 1 

"  Dearest,  I  wonder  if  you  are  getting  any  victual.  There  must 
be  cocks  at  least,  and  the  chickens  will  surely  have  laid  their  eggs. 
I  have  many  an  anxious  thought  about  you;  and  I  wonder  if  you 
sleep  at  nights,  or  if  you  are  wandering  about — on,  on — smoking 
and  killing  mice.  Oh,  if  I  was  there  I  could  put  my  arms  so  close 
about  your  neck,  and  hush  you  into  the  softest  sleep  you  have  had 
since  I  went  away.  Good-night.  Dream  of  me. 

"I  am  ever,  Your  own  GOODY. " 

The  first  year  of  Craigenputtock  thus  drew  to  an  end.  The 
storms  of  December  were  succeeded  by  frost,  and  the  moors  were 
bound  fast  in  ice.  Carlyle  continued  as  busy  as  ever  at  what  he 
called  ' '  the  despicable  craft  of  reviewing, "  but  doing  his  very  best 
with  it.  No  slop-work  ever  dropped  from  his  pen.  He  never 
wrote  down  a  word  which  he  had  not  weighed,  or  a  sentence  which 
he  had  not  assured  himself  contained  a  truth.  Every  one  of  the 
articles  composed  on  this  bare  hill-top  has  come  to  be  reprinted  un- 
altered, and  most  of  them  have  a  calmness  too  often  absent  from 
his  later  writings.  Handsome  pay,  as  I  said,  came  in,  but  not  more 
than  was  needed.  Brother  John  was  a  constant  expense :  and  even 
in  the  "Dunscore  wilderness"  life  was  impossible  without  money. 
"Alas,"  Carlyle  said,  "for  the  days  when  Diogenes  could  fit  up 
his  tub,  and  let  the  'literary  world'  and  all  the  other  worlds  ex- 
cept the  only  true  one  within  his  own  soul  wag  hither  and  thither 
at  discretion  !" 

Voltaire  was  now  his  subject.  His  mind, was  already  turning  with 
an  unconscious  fascination  towards  the  French  Revolution.  He 
had  perceived  it  to  be  the  most  noteworthy  phenomenon  of  modern 
times.  It  was  interesting  to  him,  as  an  illustration  of  his  conviction 
that  untruthfulness  and  injustice  were  as  surely  followed  by  divine 
retribution  as  the  idolatries  and  tyrannies  of  Biblical  Egypt  and 
Assyria;  that  the  Power  which  men  professed  on  Sundays  to  be- 
lieve in  was  a  living  Power,  the  most  real,  the  most  tremendous  of  all 
facts.  France  had  rejected  the  Reformation.  Truth  had  been  of- 

1  Irving. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  31 

fered  her  in  the  shape  of  light,  and  she  would  not  have  it,  and  it 
was  now  to  come  to  her  as  lightning.  She  had  murdered  her 
prophets.  She  had  received  instead  of  them  the  scoffing  Encyclo- 
paedists. Yet, with  these  transcendental  or  "mystic"  notions  in  his 
head,  Carlyle  could  write  about  the  most  worldly  of  all  men  of 
genius,  as  himself  a  man  of  the  world.  He  meets  Voltaire  on  his 
own  ground,  follows  him  into  his  private  history  with  sympathiz- 
ing amusement ;  falls  into  no  fits  of  horror  over  his  opinions  or  his 
immoralities;  but  regards  them  as  the  natural  outcome  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  time.  In  Voltaire  he  sees  the  representative 
Frenchman  of  the  age,  whose  function  was  to  burn  up  unrealities, 
out  of  the  ashes  of  which  some  more  healthy  verdure  might  event- 
ually spring.  He  could  not  reverence  Voltaire,  but  he  could  not 
hate  him.  How  could  he  hate  a  man  who  had  fought  manfully 
against  injustice  in  high  places,  and  had  himself  many  a  time  in 
private  done  kind  and  generous  actions?  To  Carlyle,  Voltaire  was 
no  apostle  charged  with  any  divine  message  of  positive  truth. 
Even  in  his  crusade  against  what  he  believed  to  be  false,  Voltaire 
was  not  animated  with  a  high  and  noble  indignation.  He  was  sim- 
ply an  instrument  of  destruction,  enjoying  his  work  with  the  pleas- 
ure of  some  mocking  imp,  yet  preparing  the  way  for  the  tremen- 
dous conflagration  which  was  impending.  There  is,  of  course, 
audible  in  this  article  a  deep  undertone  of  feeling.  Yet  the  lan- 
guage of  it  is  free  from  everything  like  excited  rhetoric.  In  the 
earlier  part  of  his  career,  Carlyle  sympathized  with  and  expected 
more  from  the  distinctive  functions  of  revolution  than  he  was  able 
to  do  after  longer  experience.  "I  thought,"  he  once  said  to  me, 
' '  that  it  was  the  abolition  of  rubbish.  I  find  it  has  been  only  the 
kindling  of  a  dunghill.  The  dry  straw  on  the  outside  burns  off; 
but  the  huge  damp  rotting  mass  remains  where  it  was." 

Thinking  on  these  momentous  subjects,  Carlyle  took  his  nightly 
walks  on  the  frozen  moor,  the  ground  crisp  under  his  feet,  the 
stars  shining  over  his  head,  and  the  hills  of  Dunscore  (for  advan- 
tage had  been  taken  of  the  dryness  of  the  air) ' '  gleaming  like  Strom- 
bolis  or  Etnas  with  the  burning  of  heath."  "  Craigenputtock  oth- 
erwise silent,  solitary  as  Tadmore  in  the  wilderness;  yet  the  infinite 
vault  still  over  it,  and  the  earth  a  little  ship  of  space  in  which  he 
was  sailing,  and  man  everywhere  in  his  Maker's  eye  and  hand." 

The  new  year  perhaps  did  not  bring  many  letters;  for  Carlyle's 
friends  were  still  few,  and  his  intimate  friends  who  would  write  on 
such  occasions  were  very  few.  One  letter,  however,  could  not  fail 
to  come  from  the  faithful  Jeffrey,  who  sent,  as  a  new-year  greet- 
ing, "kind  thoughts  and  good  wishes,"  with  a  laughing  lecture 
against  "dogmatism,"  and  "the  desperate  darkness  of  audacious 
mysticism."  From  this  Jeffrey  passed  to  moralizing  on  human  life 


83  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  things  in  general.  Edinburgh  and  the  whole  of  Britain  had 
been  shaken  by  the  Burke  and  Hare  business.  With  the  light 
touch,  half  jesting  and  half  serious,  which  is  the  charm  of  Jeffrey's 
style,  he  spoke  of  himself  as  living  in  fear  of  fever  and  dissection, 
yet  not  less  gayly,  less  carelessly,  than  usual.  Men,  he  said,  were 
naturally  predestinarians,  and  ran  their  risks  patiently  because  they 
could  not  avoid  them.  The  pestilent  and  murdering  angels  had 
passed  him  so  far,  and  he  was  grateful  for  his  escape.  Carlyle  had 
been  reading  "Don  Quixote,"  and  in  writing  to  Jeffrey  had  alluded 
to  it,  contrasting  old  times  with  new.  Jeffrey  protested  against 
Carlyle's  damnable  heresy,  insisting  that  there  were  plenty  of  shabby 
fellows  whining  over  petty  aches  and  finding  life  irksome  in  the 
age  and  country  of  Cervantes,  and  that  in  the  Britain  of  George  IV. 
there  were  stout-hearted,  bright-spirited  men  who  bore  up  against 
captivity  and  worse  ills  as  cheerily  as  he  did.  He  invited  Carlyle  to 
come  and  stay  with  him  in  Edinburgh,  and  shake  off  his  sickly 
fancies.  They  might  furnish  swelling  themes  for  eloquence,  but 
were  out  of  date,  and  never  convinced  anybody;  and  as  for  Carlyle's 
notion  that  a  man  ought  to  have  a,  right  creed  as  to  liis  relations  with 
the  universe,  he  would  never  persuade  any  one  that  the  regulation  of 
life  was  such  a  laborious  business  as  he  would  make  it,  or  that  it 
was  not  better  to  go  lightly  through  it  with  the  first  creed  tlutt  came 
to  hand,  than  spend  the  better  half  of  it  in  an  anxious  verification 
of  its  articles.  It  would  matter  less  if  Carlyle  was  but  amusing 
himself  with  paradoxes,  but  he  was  "so  dreadfully  in  earnest." 
He  was  neutralizing  half  the  fame  and  all  the  use  of  his  talents,  and 
keeping  aloof  from  him  most  of  the  men  who  were  fittest  for  his 
society. 

Never  had  Jeffrey  written  to  Carlyle  with  more  warmth.  The 
provocation  to  which  he  confessed  was  but  the  overflowing  of  good- 
will to  which  his  friend's  views  prevented  him  from  giving  the  effect 
which  he  desired.  The  good-will,  though  perfectly  genuine,  was 
not  entirely  disinterested.  Carlyle's  essays  had  drawn  the  notice  of 
the  distinguished  band  of  men  who  were  then  the  chief  contributors 
to  the  Edinburgh  Review.  They  had  recognized  that  he  had  extraor- 
dinary talents ;  that  if  he  could  be  brought  to  his  senses  and  would 
subscribe  the  articles  of  the  Whig  faith,  he  might  be  an  invaluable 
recruit  to  the  great  party  of  Reform.  Jeffrey  himself  was  about  to 
retire  from  the  editorship  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  to  become 
Dean  of  the  Faculty.  His  advice,  though  not  decisive,  would  be  of 
weight  in  the  choice  of  his  successor,  and  he  had  seriously  thought 
of  recommending  Carlyle.  Brougham,  Macaulay,  Sydney  Smith 
would  all  have  more  or  less  to  be-consulted ;  and  perhaps  the  politi- 
cal chiefs  as  well:  yet  if  his  friend  would  only  be  amenable,  burn 
his  Goethe,  renounce  his  mysticism,  and  let  his  talents  and  virtues 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  33 

have  fair  play,  Jeffrey  must  have  thought  that  the  objections  in 
those  quarters  would  not  be  insurmountable. 

So  was  Carlyle  tempted  in  his  hermitage,  like  another  St.  Anthony, 
by  the  spirit  of  this  world,  and  in  a  more  seductive  dress  than  that 
in  which  it  assailed  the  Christian  saint.  There  was  no  situation  in 
the  empire  more  attractive  to  literary  ambition  than  the  editorship 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review  in  those  its  palmy  days  of  glory  and 
power.  To  have  been  even  thought  of  for  such  an  office  implied 
that  the  attention  of  the  Reform  leaders  had  been  drawn  to  him; 
and  that  if  not  in  this  way,  yet  in  some  others,  he  might,  if  he  pleased, 
be  advanced  to  some  lucrative  and  honorable  office.  The  difficulty 
was  not  on  their  side,  it  was  on  his.  The  way  which  they  called 
heresy  he  called  truth;  and  the  kind,  honest,  but  seducing  angel  as- 
sailed him  in  vain. 

Carlyle,  though  in  the  "Reminiscences  of  Lord  Jeffrey"  he  has 
acknowledged  a  general  wish  on  Jeffrey's  part  to  serve  him,  which 
was  thwarted  by  his  own  persistency,  has  passed  over  without  men- 
tion this  particular  instance  of  it.  He  never  mentioned  it  even  in 
conversation  to  myself.  But  the  fact  was  so.  Jeffrey  is  himself  the 
witness.  The  publishers  of  the  Review  came  down  to  Edinburgh  to 
consult  with  him.  Carlyle  was  not  actually  proposed.  The  prudent 
and  cautious  views  of  the  Longmans,  and  Jeffrey's  wish  to  spare 
Carlyle  the  mortification  of  being  rejected,  prevented  his  pretensions 
from  being  brought  directly  under  discussion.  But  the  inflexibility 
and  independence  of  Carlyle's  character  were  the  chief,  perhaps  the 
only,  obstacles.  Jeffrey  was  bitterly  disappointed.  The  person  se- 
lected was  Macvey  Napier,  the  editor  of  the  Encyclopedia,  "a  safe 
man  at  all  events."  Jeffrey,  writing  to  Carlyle,  could  not  hide  his 
mortification.  "  It  was  with  mixed  sorrow  and  anger,"  he  said,  that 
he  saw  his  friend  renouncing  his  natural  titles  to  distinction  for  such 
fantastical  idolatry.  The  folly  of  his  own  fair  cousin's  ancestors, 
who  threw  away  their  money  in  improving  and  adorning  Craigen- 
puttock,  was  but  a  faint  type  of  Carlyle's.  But  he  could  not  help 
him;  he  would  pray  for  him  if  it  would  do  any  good. 

A  further  effect  of  the  change  of  editorship  was  that  it  threatened 
at  first  the  close  of  Carlyle's  connection  with  the  Review,  even  as  a 
contributor.  Jeffrey  continued  to  edit  till  the  middle  of  1829,  and 
so  long  as  he  was  in  the  chair  Carlyle's  help  was  still  solicited.  The 
"Voltaire"  had  been  written  for  the  Edinburgh,  if  the  Edinburgh 
would  have  it,  and  a  corresponding  article  was  in  contemplation 
upon  Johnson,  Voltaire's  direct  antithesis.  Neither  of  these  subjects 
pleased  Jeffrey.  Carlyle,  he  thought,  perhaps  in  this  case  with  some 
want  of  judgment,  could  have  nothing  new  to  say  on  either  of  them. 
But  as  the  time  of  his  withdrawal  drew  near  he  begged  hard  for  a 
parting  contribution  for  his  last  number.  The  "Voltaire"  would 

II.— 2* 


84  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

have  answered  well  for  him,  but  he  did  not  even  ask  to  look  at  it. 
On  any  other  subject  Carlyle  might  write  what  he  pleased;  mysti- 
cism of  the  worst  kind  should  not  be  rejected.  He  was  really  ambi- 
tious, he  said,  of  having  a  morsel  of  mysticism.  He  was  going  to 
take  advantage  of  his  approaching  abdication  by  plaguing  Brougham 
with  an  attack  on  Utilitarianism ;  and  it  was  but  reasonable  that  he 
should  use  the  same  retreat  from  responsibility  in  encouraging  Car- 
lyle to  commit  a  fresh  outrage  oh  the  rational  part  of  his  readers. 
Any  topic  would  serve  as  a  text.  Jeffrey  suggested  "Vivian  Grey"  or 
' '  Pelham. "  "  Vivian  Grey  "  he  considered  better  than  the  best  novel 
which  any  German  had  ever  written.  Carlyle  proposed  Southey,  but 
Macaulay  had  forestalled  him.  In  the  end  Carlyle  wrote  the  "  Signs 
of  the  Times,"  the  first  of  the  essays  in  which  he  brought  out  his 
views  of  the  condition  of  modern  English  society — a  most  signal 
outrage  indeed,  if  that  was  what  Jeffrey  wanted,  on  "the  Philoso- 
phy of  Progress,"  which  was  preached  so  continuously  from  the  Ed- 
inburgh pulpit.  He  gave  Jeffrey  full  warning  of  what  was  coming. 
Jeffrey  only  encouraged  him  with  visibly  malicious  amusement. 
But  the  cautious  character  which  he  ascribed  to  Napier  made  it 
probable  that  this  article  might  be  his  last  in  that  periodical. 

Of  outward  incidents  meanwhile  the  Craigenputtock  history  was 
almost  entirely  destitute.  The  year  1829  rolled  by  without  in- 
terruption to  the  tranquil  routine  of  daily  life.  John  Carlyle  came 
home  from  Germany  and  became  sometimes  his  brother's  guest  till 
a  situation  as  doctor  could  be  found  for  him.  Carlyle  himself  wrote 
and  rode,  and  planted  potatoes.  His  wife's  faculty  for  spreading 
grace  about  her  had  extended  to  the  outside  premises,  and  behind 
the  shelter  of  the  trees  she  had  raised  a  rose  garden.  An  old  but 
strong  and  convenient  gig  was  added  to  the  establishment.  When 
an  article  was  finished  Carlyle  allowed  himself  a  fortnight's  holiday : 
he  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  driving  off  with  Larry  either  to  Templand  or  to 
Scotsbrig;  the  pipe  and  tobacco  duly  arranged  under  cover  on  the 
inner  side  of  the  splashboard.  The  Jeffreys  passed  through  Dum- 
fries in  the  summer.  Their  friends  from  the  Craig  drove  down  to 
see  them,  and  were  even  meditating  afterwards  an  expedition  in  the 
same  style  throughout  England  as  far  as  Cornwall. 

Carlyle  was  full  of  thoughts  on  the  great  social  questions  of  the 
day.  He  wished  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  actual  condition  of 
the  people  of  England,  as  they  lived  in  their  own  homes.  The  plan 
had  to  be  abandoned  for  want  of  means,  but  he  had  set  his  own 
heart  upon  it,  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  would  have  been  glad  too  of  a 
change  from  a  solitude  which  was  growing  intolerably  oppressive. 
Carlyle's  ill-humors  had  not  come  back,  but  he  was  occupied  and 
indifferent.  There  is  a  letter  from  his  wife  to  old  Mrs.  Carlyle  at 
Scotsbrig.  undated,  but  belonging  evidently  to  March  of  this  year, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  35 

in  which  she  complains  of  the  loneliness.  "Carlyle,"  she  says, 
"never  asks  me  to  go  with  him,  never  even  looks  as  if  he  desired 
my  company." 

One  visitor,  however,  came  to  Craigenputtock  in  the  summer 
whose  visit  was  more  than  welcome.  Margaret,  the  eldest  of  Car- 
lyle's  sisters,  had  the  superiority  of  mind  and  talent  which  belonged 
to  her  brother,  and  she  had  along  with  it  an  instinctive  delicacy  and 
nobleness  of  nature  which  had  overcome  the  disadvantages  of  her 
education.  She  had  become  a  most  striking  and  interesting  woman, 
but  unhappily  along  with  it  she  had  shown  symptoms  of  consump- 
tion. In  the  preceding  autumn  the  family  had  been  seriously  alarmed 
about  her.  She  had  been  ill  all  through  the  winter,  but  she  had  ral- 
lied with  the  return  of  warm  weather.  The  cough  ceased,  the  color 
came  back  to  her  cheek,  she  was  thought  to  have  recovered  entirely, 
and  in  June  or  July  she  rode  over  with  her  brother  John  from  Scots- 
brig  to  Craigenputtock,  picking  up  on  the  way  a  precious  letter 
which  was  waiting  at  Dumfries  post-office. 

"I  remember  [Carlyle  writes]  one  beautiful  summer  evening, 
1829,  as  I  lounged  out-of-doors  smoking  my  evening  pipe,  silent  in 
the  great  silence,  the  woods  and  hill-tops  all  gilt  with  the  flamins: 
splendor  of  a  summer  sun  just  about  to  set,  there  came  a  rustle  an3 
a  sound  of  hoofs  into  the  little  bending  avenue  on  my  left  (sun  was 
behind  the  house  and  me),  and  the  minute  after  brother  John  and 
Margaret  direct  from  Scotsbrig,  fresh  and  handsome,  as  their  little 
horses  ambled  up,  one  of  the  gladdest  sights  and  surprises  to  me. 
'  Mag,  dear  Mag,  once  more.' l  John  had  found  a  letter  from  Goethe 
for  me  at  the  post-office,  Dumfries.  This,  having  sent  them  in 
doors,  I  read  in  my  old  posture  and  place,  pure  white  the  fine  big 
sheet  itself,  still  purer  the  noble  meaning  all  in  it,  as  if  mutely 
pointing  to  eternity — letter  fit  to  be  read  in  such  a  place  and  time." 
Our  dear  Mag  stayed  some  couple  of  weeks  or  more  (made  me  a 
nice  buff-colored  cotton  waistcoat,  I  remember).  She  was  quietly 
cheerful,  and  complained  of  nothing;  but  my  darling,  with  her 
quick  eye,  had  noticed  too  well  (as  she  then  whispered  to  me)  that 
the  recovery  was  only  superficial,  and  that  worse  might  be  ahead. 
It  was  the  last  visit  Margaret  ever  made. " 

Nothing  more  of  special  moment  happened  this  year.  Life  went 
on  as  usual;  but  the  autumn  brought  anxieties  of  more  than  one 
description.  The  letters  that  remain  are  few,  for  his  wife  and  his 
brother  Alexander,  to  whom  he  wrote  most  confidentially,  were 
both  at  Craigenputtock,  and  his  brother  John  also  was  for  several 
months  with  him.  He  was  trying  to  produce  something  better  than 
review  articles,  and  was  engaged  busily  with  an  intended  history  of 

>  The  account  is  taken  from  the  "Reminiscences."    The  concluding  words  are 
inserted  from  a  letter. 
J  I  discover  no  trace  of  this  letter.     Perhaps  it  may  yet  be  found. 


86  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

German  literature,  for  which  he  had  collected  a  large  quantity  of 
books.  But  John  Carlyle,  who  was  naturally  listless,  had  to  be 
stimulated  to  exertion,  and  was  sent  to  London  to  look  for  employ- 
ment. Employment  would  not  come;  perhaps  was  less  assiduously 
looked  for  than  it  might  have  been.  The  expense  of  his  mainte- 
nance fell  on  Carlyle,  and  the  reviews  were  the  only  source  to  which 
he  could  look.  More  articles  therefore  had  to  be  prdduced  if  a 
market  could  be  found  for  them.  Jeffrey,  constant  in  his  friend- 
ship, consulted  the  new  editor  of  the  Edinburgh,  and  various  sub- 
jects were  suggested  and  thought  over.  Carlyle  proposed  Napo- 
leon, but  another  contributor  was  in  the  way.  Jeffrey  was  in  fa- 
vor of  Wycliffe,  Luther,  or  "the  Philosophy  of  the  Reformation." 
Napier  thought  a  striking  article  might  be  written  on  some  poetical 
subject;  but  when  Jeffrey  hinted  to  him  some  of  Carlyle's  views 
on  those  topics,  and  how  contemptuously  he  regarded  all  the  mod- 
ern English  singers,  the  new  editor  "shuddered  at  the  massacre  of 
the  innocents  to  which  he  had  dreamed  of  exciting  him."  Still, 
for  himself,  Jeffrey  thought  that  if  Carlyle  was  in  a  relenting  mood, 
and  wished  to  exalt  or  mystify  the  world  by  a  fine  rhapsody  on  the 
divine  art,  he  might  be  encouraged  to  try  it. 

Liking  Jeffrey  as  Carlyle  did,  he  was  puzzled  at  so  much  interest 
being  shown  in  him.  He  called  it  a  mystery.  Jeffrey  humorously 
caught  up  the  word,  and  accepted  it  as  the  highest  compliment 
which  Carlyle  could  pay.  In  a  humbler  sense,  however,  he  was 
content  to  think  it  natural  that  one  man  of  a  kind  heart  should  feel 
attracted  towards  another,  and  that  signal  purity  and  loftiness  of 
character,  joined  to  great  talents  and  something  of  a  romantic  his- 
tory, should  excite  interest  and  respect. 

Jeffrey's  anxiety  to  be  of  use  did  not  end  in  recommendations  to 
Napier.  He  knew  how  the  Carlyles  were  situated  in  money  mat- 
ters. He  knew  that  they  were  poor,  and  that  their  poverty  had 
risen  from  a  voluntary  surrender  of  means  which  were  properly 
their  own,  but  which  they  would  not  touch  while  Mrs.  AYelsh  was 
alive.  He  knew  also  that  Carlyle  had  educated,  and  was  still  sup- 
porting, his  brother  out  of  his  own  slender  earnings.  He  saw,  as  he 
supposed,  a  man  of  real  brilliancy  and  genius  weighed  down  and 
prevented  from  doing  justice  to  himself  by  a  drudgery  which  de- 
prived him  of  the  use  of  his  more  commanding  talents;  and, with  a 
generosity  the  merit  of  which  was  only  exceeded  by  the  delicacy 
with  which  the  offer  was  made,  he  proposed  that  Carlyle  should 
accept  a  small  annuity  from  him.  Here  again  I  regret  that  I  am 
forbidden  to  print  the  admirable  letter  in  which  Jeffrey  conveyed 
his  desire,  to  which  Carlyle  in  his  own  mention  of  this  transaction 
has  done  but  scanty  justice.  The  whole  matter,  he  said,  should  be 
an  entire  secret  between  them.  He  would  tell  no  one — not  even 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  37 

his  wife.  He  bade  Carlyle  remember  that  he  too  would  have  been 
richer  if  he  had  not  been  himself  a  giver  where  there  was  less  de- 
mand upon  his  liberality.  He  ought  not  to  wish  for  a  monopoly 
of  generosity,  and  if  he  was  really  a  religious  man  he  must  do  as 
he  would  be  done  to;  nor,  he  added,  would  he  have  made  the  offer 
did  he  not  feel  that  in  similar  circumstances  he  would  have  freely 
accepted  it  himself.  To  show  his  confidence  he  enclosed  50/., 
which  he  expected  Carlyle  to  keep,  and  desired  only  to  hear  in  re- 
ply that  they  had  both  done  right. 

Carlyle  was  grateful,  but  he  was  proud.  He  did  not  at  the  time, 
or  perhaps  ever,  entirely  misconstrue  the  spirit  in  which  Jeffrey 
had  volunteered  to  assist  him ;  but  it  is  hard,  perhaps  it  is  impossi- 
ble, for  a  man  to  receive  pecuniary  help,  or  even  the  offer  of  pe- 
cuniary help,  from  a  person  who  is  not  his  relation,  without  some 
sense  that  he  is  in  a  position  of  inferiority;  and  there  is  force  in  the 
objection  to  accepting  favors  which  Carlyle  thus  describes,  looking 
back  over  forty  years : 

"  Jeffrey  generously  offered  to  confer  on  me  an  annuity  of  100?., 
which  annual  sum,  had  it  fallen  on  me  from  the  clouds,  would  have 
been  of  very  high  convenience  at  that  time,  but  which  I  could  not 
for  a  moment  have  dreamed  of  accepting  as  gift  or  subventionary 
help  from  any  fellow-mortal.  It  was  at  once  in  my  handsomest, 
gratefullest,  but  brief  and  conclusive  way  declined  from  Jeffrey. 
'Republican  equality,'  the  silently  fixed  law  of  society  at  present: 
each  man  to  live  on  his  own  resources,  and  have  an  equality  of 
economics  with  every  other  man;  dangerous,  and  not  possible  ex- 
cept through  cowardice  or  folly  to  depart  from  said  clear  rule  till 
perhaps  a  better  era  rise  on  us  again." 

From  a  letter  written  at  the  time  there  appears  through  his  genu- 
ine gratitude  a  faint  but  perceptible  tinge  of  wounded  feeling. 

"  Do  but  think  of  Jeffrey  [he  wrote  to  his  brother,  who  was  really 
the  cause  that  he  was  in  difficulties].  A  letter  was  lying  here  from 
him  offering  in  the  daintiest  style  to  settle  a  hundred  a  year  on 
unworthy  me.  I  have  just  sent  the  meekest,  friendliest,  but  most 
emphatic  refusal  for  this  and  all  coming  times.  Do  not  mention 
this,  for  you  see  it  has  never  gone  beyond  the  length  of  a  flourish 
of  rhetoric,  and  is  scarcely  fit  to  mention.  Only  whenever  we  think 
of  our  Dean  of  the  Faculty  let  us  conceive  him  as  a  muUum  in  par- 
vo  that  does  credit  to  Scotland  and  humanity." 

If  any  one  thinks  that  Carlyle  was  deficient  in  gratitude,  let  him 
remember  that  gratitude  is  but  one  of  many  feelings  which  are 
equally  legitimate  and  reputable.  The  gentleman  commoner  at 
Pembroke  College  meant  only  kindness  when  he  left  the  boots  at 
Johnson's  door;  but  Johnson,  so  far  from  being  grateful,  flung  the 
boots  out  of  window,  and  has  been  praised  by  all  mankind  for  it. 


38  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

From  his  brother  himself  Carlyle  was  careful  to  conceal  the 
scanty  state  to  which  his  resources  were  reduced.  From  his  note- 
book I  find  that  at  one  time  in  1830  he  had  but  five  pounds  left 
with  which  to  face  the  world.  Yet  he  still  wrote  cheerfully,  and 
remittances  were  still  sent,  with  no  word  except  of  kind  exhortation 
to  exertion. 

To  John  Carlyle,  London. 

"  Craigcnputtock :  Febtuary  11, 1830. 

"Your  last  letter,  dear  brother,  though  but  of  a  sable  texture, 
gave  me  more  real  satisfaction  than  any  you  had  written.  It  ex- 
hibits you  in  a  figure  of  decided  action,  which  after  so  many  weeks 
of  storm-bound  inactivity  we  all  heartily  longed  and  prayed  to  see 
you  in.  Spite  of  all  difficulties,  and  these  are  too  many  and  too 
heavy,  I  now  doubt  not  a  moment  that  you  will  find  yourself  a 
settlement  and  ultimately  prosper  there.  But  you  are  now  at  the 
pinch  of  the  game,  Jack,  and  must  not  falter.  Now  or  never!  Oh, 
my  dear  brother,  do  not  loiter,  do  not  linger,  trusting  to  the  chapter 
of  chances  and  help  from  other  men.  Know  and  feel  that  you  are 
still  there  yourself;  one  heart  and  head  that  will  never  desert  your 
interests.  I  know  the  many  difficulties  and  hesitations,  how  wretch- 
ed you  are  while  others  only  fancy  you  sluggish.  But,  thank 
Heaven,  you  are  now  afoot,  fairly  diligent  and  intent.  What  way 
it  is  in  you  to  make  j'ou  will  make ;  and  already  I  can  well  believe 
you  are  far  happier;  for  evil,  as  Jean  Paul  truly  says,  is  like  a 
nightmare — the  instant  you  begin  to  stir  yourself  it  is  already  gone. 

"Meanwhile  do  not  fret  yourself  over  much;  a  period  of  probation 
and  adventure  is  appointed  for  most  men,  is  good  for  all  men.  For 
your  friends  especially — and  testifying  by  deed  your  affection  to 
them — give  yourself  no  sorrow.  There  is  not  a  friend  you  have, 
Jack,  who  doubts  for  an  instant  of  your  affection ;  neither  is  their 
wish  with  regard  to  you  to  see  you  rich  and  famous,  but  to  see  you 
self-collected,  diligent,  and  wise,  steering  your  way  manfully  through 
this  existence,  resolutely  and  with  clear  heart  as  beseems  a  man,  as 
beseems  such  a  man.  Whether  you  ride  in  carriages  and  drink 
Tokay,  and  have  crowds  to  follow  after  you,  or  only  walk  in  Scotch 
clogs  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  a  matter — so  you  do  walk — of  far  smaller 
moment.  '  Stout  heart  to  a  stay  brae '  then,  my  brave  boy !  There 
is  nothing  in  the  world  to  frighten  a  clear  heart.  They  can  refuse 
you  guinea  fees,  but  the  godlike  privilege  of  alleviating  wretched- 
ness, of  feeling  that  you  are  a  true  man,  let  the  whole  host  of  gig- 
men  say  to  it  what  they  will,  no  power  on  earth,  or  what  is  under 
it,  can  take  from  you.  Oh  then,  my  brother,  up  and  be  doing!  Be 
my  real  stout  brother  as  of  old,  and  I  will  take  you  to  my  heart  and 
name  you  proudly,  though  in  the  world's  eye  you  were  the  lowest 
of  the  low.  What  charm  is  in  a  name?  Physician,  surgeon,  apoth- 
ecary— all  but  quack — is  honorable.  There  are  plenty  of  poor  to 
practise  on.  If  you  gain  but  twenty  shillings  during  the  first  half- 
year,  do  not  despair.  As  for  the  poor  ten  pounds  you  get  from  me, 
you  are  heartily  welcome  to  it  thrice  over.  My  only  grief  is  that 
in  the  present  posture  of  affairs  I  can  furnish  nothing  more.  The 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  39 

Blacks  have  not  so  much  as  paid  me  yet.  However,  times  will  not 
always  be  so  bad,  and  while  I  have  help  to  give  depend  on  it  as 
your  own.  Your  affectionate  brother,  T.  C." 

The  Fates  this  winter  were  doing  their  very  worst  to  Carlyle. 
His  wife  had  escaped  harm  from  the  first  season  at  Craigenputtock, 
but  was  not  to  be  let  off  so  easily  a  second  time.  All  went  well  till 
the  close  of  December  ;  a  fat  goose  had  been  killed  for  the  New- 
year's  feast,  when  the  snow  fell  and  the  frost  came,  and  she  caught 
a  violent  sore-throat,  which  threatened  to  end  in  diphtheria.  There 
was  no  doctor  nearer  than  Dumfries,  and  the  road  from  the  valley 
was  hardly  passable.  Mrs.  Welsh  struggled  up  from  Templand 
through  the  snow-drifts  ;  care  and  nursing  kept  the  enemy  off,  and 
the  immediate  danger  in  a  few  days  was  over  ;  but  the  shock  had 
left  behind  it  a  sense  of  insecurity,  and  the  unsuitableness  of  such  a 
home  for  so  frail  a  frame  became  more  than  ever  apparent.  The 
old  father  at  Scotsbrig  fell  ill,  too,  this  January,  and  showed  signs 
of  breaking,  and,  besides  the  illness  of  those  dear  to  him,  the  repose 
of  the  country  was  startled  by  more  than  one  frightful  tragedy. 
The  death  of  a  Craigenputtock  neighbor  affected  Carlyle  much. 

"Rob  Clerk  of  Craigmony  [he  wrote  to  his  brother  John]  had  been 
drinking  at  Minny  hire,  perhaps  the  day  you  were  departing.  He 
tumbled  off  his  chair  with  a  groan,  gave  a  snort  or  two  on  the  floor, 
and  was  by  his  companions  reckoned  to  be  dead-drunk.  At  their 
convenient  leisure  they  hoisted  him  and  his  boy,  also  drunk,  into 
the  cart,  which  Johnny  McCawe's  'lassie'  (happily  sober)  drove 
home  under  cloud  of  night  to  his  aunt.  Rob  spoke  none,  moved 
none,  and  his  aunt  carried  him  in  on  her  back  and  laid  him  on  the 
bed,  and  after  hours  of  sedulous  ministering  discovered  him  to  be — 
dead  !  Rob  was  once  a  man  that  could  have  tuned  markets  with  his 
own  purse,  and  he  would  not  '  taste '  in  those  days.  But  he  failed 
in  trade  twice  ;  since  then  has  led  a  strange  wet-and-dry  existence, 
drunk  in  all  corners  of  Britain,  from  Sussex  to  Sutherland,  and  so 
found  his  end  at  length.  Is  it  not  a  wild  world  this  ?  Who  made 
it  ?  who  governs  it  ?  who  gets  good  of  it  ?  Without  faith  I  think  a 
man  were  forced  to  be  an  atheist." 

The  next  letter,  one  of  the  very  few  which  Carlyle  ever  addressed 
to  a  public  journal,  explains  itself: 

"  To  the  Editor  of  the  'Dumfries  and  Galloway  Courier.' 

"April  12,1830. 

"Mr.  Editor,  —  Some  time  last  autumn  a  'fatal  accident'  stood 
recorded  in  the  newspapers,  of  a  young  man  having  come  by  his 
death  at  a  place  called  Knockhill,  near  Ecclefechan,  in  this  county, 
under  somewhat  singular  circumstances.  The  young  man,  it  ap- 
peared, had  been  engaged  in  some  courtship  with  one  of  the  maid- 
servants of  the  house  ;  had  come  that  night  to  see  her  in  the  fashion 
common,  or  indeed  universal,  with  men  of  his  station  in  that  quar- 


40  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ter,  was  overheard  by  the  butler,  was  challenged,  pursued,  and,  re- 
fusing to  answer  any  interrogatory,  but  hastening  only  to  escape, 
was  shot  dead  by  him  on  the  spot.  No  man  who  has  lived  three 
weeks  in  the  south  of  Scotland  can  be  ignorant  that  such  visits  oc- 
cur nightly  everywhere,  and  have  occurred  from  time  immemorial. 
It  is  a  custom  by  many  blamed,  by  some  applauded.  In  the  roman- 
tic spirit  sometimes  displayed  in  it;  hi  the  long  journeyings  and 
wistful  waitings  for  an  interview;  in  the  faithfulness  with  which 
the  rustic  wooer  at  all  hazards  keeps  his  secret  which  is  also  an- 
other's, Dr.  Currie  traces  among  our  peasants  some  resemblance  to 
the  gallantry  of  a  Spanish  cavalier.  In  company  with  the  butler, 
so  fatally  watchful  on  this  occasion,  were  two  men  to  have  assisted 
him  in  any  defence,  in  any  seizure.  Whether  he  knew  the  individ- 
ual fugitive,  then  within  some  feet  of  his  gun,  is  uncertain ;  that  he 
guessed  his  errand  there  is  scarcely  so.  Enough,  the  poor  young 
man  who  had  refused  to  speak  fell  to  the  ground,  exclaiming  only, 
'  Oh,  lasses,  lasses!'  and  in  a  few  instants  was  no  more. 

'  Ready  or  not  ready,  no  delay ! 
On  to  his  Judge's  bar  he  must  away.' 

Last  week  I  looked  over  your  circuit  intelligence  with  some  anxiety 
to  see  how  this  case  had  been  disposed  of,  out  unfortunately  with- 
out effect.  There  was  no  notice  of  it  there.  Interesting  trials  enough 
we  have  had,  trials  for  attempting  to  shoot  rabbits,  for  writing  mar- 
riage-lines, for  stealing  a  pair  of  breeches ;  but  for  the  '  shedder  of 
blood '  there  was  no  trial.  To  none  of  his  Majesty's  justiciars,  it 
would  seem,  has  any  hint  of  that  transaction  been  communicated. 
Whether  it  was  ever  so  much  as  glanced  at,  much  less  thoroughly 
sifted  by  any  official  personage,  high  or  low,  appears  not  from  the 
record — nowhere  the  smallest  whisper  of  it. 

"May  I  ask,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful,  how  this  has 
been  ?  Is  it  lawful,  then,  to  put  to  death  any  individual  whom  you 
may  find  flirting  with  your  maid  after  ten  at  night  ?  Nay,  is  it  so 
lawful  that  no  inquiry  can  be  needed  on  the  subject ;  but  the  whole 
matter  may  be  hushed  up  into  insignificance,  with  a  few  bows  or 
shrugs?  If  we  have  an  Act  of  Parliament  to  that  purport,  it  is  well; 
only  let  us  understand  clearly  how  it  runs.  May  any  British  sub- 
ject, the  poorest  cotter,  keep  his  loaded  gun  for  our  rural  Celadons, 
and  shoot  them  with  less  ceremony  than  he  dare  do  snipes?  Or  is 
only  men  possessing  certain  '  ploughgates  of  land '  that  enjoy  such 
a  privilege?  If  so,  might  not  it  be  well  that  they  were  bound  to 
take  out  some  license  or  game  certificate  first? 

"  Of  your  Public  Prosecutor  I  know  not  even  the  name.  The  mas- 
ter of  that  Knockhill  mansion,  the  unhappy  creature  his  servant, 
are,  if  possible,  still  more  unknown  to  me.  Hatred  of  them,  love 
of  them,  fear  or  hope  of  them,  have  I  none.  Neither  say  I,  nor 
know  I,  whether  in  that  act  the  wretched  homicide  did  right  or  did 
wrong.  But,  in  the  name  of  God,  let  all  official  courtesies  and  hole- 
and-corner  work  be  far  from  us  when  '  man's  blood '  is  on  our 
floor!  Let  the  light  in  on  it,  the  clear  eye  of  public  inquiry,  or  the 
spot  will  blacken  there  forever.  Let  the  law  with  its  fifteen  good 
men  and  true  speak  forth  an  open  verdict,  that  the  muttered  curses 
of  a  whole  district  may  cease.  Vox." 


41 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A.D.  1830.      ,ET.  85. 

THE  outward  life  of  a  man  of  letters  is  in  his  works.  But  in  his 
works  he  shows  only  so  much  of  himself  as  he  considers  that  the 
world  will  be  benefited  or  interested  by  seeing;  or  rather,  if  he  is 
true  artist  he  does  not  show  his  own  self  at  all.  The  more  excellent 
the  thing  produced,  the  more  it  resembles  a  work  of  nature  in  which 
the  creation  is  alone  perceived,  while  the  creating  hand  is  hidden  in 
mystery.  Homer  and  Shakespeare  are  the  greatest  of  poets,  but  of 
the  men  Homer  and  Shakespeare  we  know  next  to  nothing.  "  The 
blind  old  bard  of  Ohio's  rocky  isle  "  has  been  even  criticised  out  of 
existence,  and  ingenious  inquirers  have  been  found  to  maintain  that 
the  Stratford  player  furnished  but  a  convenient  name,  and  that  the 
true  authors  of  "Henry  IV. "or  "Hamlet"  were  Queen  Elizabeth's 
courtiers  and  statesmen. 

3Ien  of  genius  do  not  care  to  hang  their  hearts  upon  their  sleeve 
for  daws  to  peck  at;  yet  if  they  have  left  anywhere  their  written 
conversations  with  themselves,  if  they  have  opened  a  door  into  the 
laboratory  where  the  creative  force  can  be  seen  hi  its  operation,  and 
the  man  himself  can  be  made  known  to  us  as  he  appeared  in  un- 
dress and  in  his  own  eyes,  the  public  who  are  interested  in  his  writ- 
ings may  count  it  as  a  piece  of  rare  good-fortune.  No  man  who 
has  any  vital  force  in  him  ever  lies  to  himself.  He  may  assume  a 
disguise  to  others;  but  the  first  condition  of  success  is  that  he  be 
true  to  his  own  soul  and  has  looked  his  own  capacities  and  his  own 
faults  fairly  in  the  face.  I  have  already  given  some  extracts  from 
Carlyle's  Journal.  The  entries  are  irregular,  sometimes  with  a  blank 
of  several  years.  For  1829  and  1830  it  is  unusually  ample,  and  that 
the  story  may  not  be  interrupted  I  place  before  the  reader  collec- 
tively the  picture  which  it  gives  of  Carlyle's  mind.  Some  incidents 
arc  alluded  to  which  have  still  to  be  related.  The  reader  will  learn 
what  he  may  find  wanting  in  the  chapter  which  will  follow. 

EXTRACTS   FROM  A  DIARY   KEPT   AT  CRAIGENPUTTOCK. 

1829-1830. 

"February,  1829. — Has  the  mind  its  cycles  and  seasons  like  nat- 
ure, varying  from  the  fermentation  of  werden  to  the  clearness  of 
seyn,  and  this  again  and  again,  so  that  the  history  of  a  man  is  like 
the  history  of  the  world  he  lives  in?  In  my  own  case,  I  have  traced 
two  or  three  such  vicissitudes.  At  present,  if  I  mistake  not,  there 
is  some  such  thing  at  hand  for  me." 

"Above  all  things,  I  should  like  to  ~know  England;  the  essence  of 
social  life  in  this  same  little  island  of  ours.  But  how?  No  one 
that  I  speak  to  can  throw  light  on  it;  not  he  that  has  worked  and 


42  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

lived  in  the  midst  of  it  for  half  a  century.  The  blind  following  the 
blind !  Yet  each  cries  out,  '  What  glorious  sunshine  we  have !'  The 
'old  literature'  only  half  contents  me.  It  is  ore.  and  not  metal.  I 
have  not  even  a  history  of  the  country  half  precise  enough.  With 
Scotland  it  is  little  better.  To  me  there  is  nothing  poetical  in  Scot- 
land but  its  religion.  Perhaps  because  I  know  nothing  else  so  well. 
England,  with  its  old  chivalry,  art,  and  '  creature  comfort, '  looks 
beautiful,  but  only  as  a  cloud  country,  the  distinctive  features  of 
which  are  all  melted  into  one  gay,  sunny  mass  of  hues.  After  all, 
we  are  a  world  'within  ourselves,'  a  'self-contained  house.' " 

"The  English  have  never  had  an  artist  except  in  poetry:  no  mu- 
sician ;  no  painter.  Purcell  (was  he  a  native  ?)  and  Hogarth  are  not 
exceptions,  or  only  such  as  confirm  the  rule. " 

"  He  who  would  understand  England  must  understand  her  Church 
— for  that  is  half  of  the  whole  matter.  Am  I  not  conscious  of  a 
prejudice  on  that  side  ?  Does  not  the  very  sight  of  a  shovel-hat  in 
some  degree  indispose  me  to  the  wearer  thereof  ?  shut  up  my  heart 
against  him?  This  must  be  looked  into.  Without  love  there  is  no 
knowledge." 

"Do  I  not  also  partly  despise,  partly  hate,  the  aristocracy  of 
Scotland?  I  fear  I  do,  though  under  cover.  This,  too,  should  be 
remedied.  On  the  whole,  I  know  little  of  the  Scottish  gentleman, 
and  more  than  enough  of  the  Scottish  gigman.  All  are  not  mere 
rent-gatherers  and  game-preservers." 

"Have  the  Scottish  gentry  lost  their  national  character  of  late 
years,  and  become  mere  danglers  in  the  train  of  the  wealthier  Eng- 
lish? Scott  has  seen  certain  characters  among  them  of  which  I, 
hitherto,  have  not  heard  of  any  existing  specimen." 

"Is  the  true  Scotchman  the  peasant  and  yeoman;  chiefly  the  for- 
mer ?" 

"  Shall  we  actually  go  and  drive  through  England,  to  see  it  ?  Mail- 
coaches  are  a  mere  mockery." 

"A  national  character,  that  is,  the  description  of  one,  tends  to  re- 
alize itself,  as  some  prophecies  have  produced  their  own  fulfilment. 
Tell  a  man  that  he  is  brave,  and  you  help  him  to  become  so.  The 
national  character  hangs  like  a  pattern  in  every  head;  each  sensibly 
or  insensibly  shapes  himself  thereby,  and  feels  pleased  when  he  can 
in  any  manner  realize  it. " 

"Is  the  characteristic  strength  of  England  its  love  of  justice,  its 
deep-seated,  universally  active  sense  of  fair  play?  On  many  points 
it  seems  to  be  a  very  stupid  people;  but  seldom  a  hide-bound,  bigot- 
ed, altogether  unmanageable  and  unaddressable  people." 

"The  Scotch  have  more  enthusiasm  and  more  consideration;  that 
is,  at  once  more  sail  and  ballast.  They  seem  to  have  a  deeper  and 
richer  character  as  a  nation.  The  old  Scottish  music,  our  songs, 
are  a  highly  distinctive  feature." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE.  43 

"  Read  Novalis's  '  Schriften '  for  the  second  time  some  weeks  ago, 
and  wrote  a  review  of  them.  A  strange,  mystic,  unfathomable 
book,  but  full  of  matter  for  most  earnest  meditation.  What  is  to 
become  (next)  of  the  world  and  the  sciences  thereof?  Rather,  what 
is  to  become  of  tftee  and  thy  sciences?  Thou  longest  to  act  among 
thy  fellow-men,  and  canst  yet  scarcely  breatlie  among  them." 

' '  Friedrich  Schlegel  dead  at  Dresden  on  the  9th  of  January.  Poor 
Schlegel,  what  a  toilsome  seeking  was  thine!  Thou  knowest  now 
whether  thou  hast  found — or  thou  carest  not  for  knowing  !" 

"What  am  I  to  say  of  Voltaire?  His  name  has  stood  at  the  top 
of  a  sheet  for  three  days,  and  no  other  word  !  Writing  is  a  dreadful 
labor,  yet  not  so  dreadful  us  idleness." 

"Every  living  man  is  a  visible  mystery;  he  walks  between  two 
eternities  and  two  infinitudes.  Were  we  not  blind  as  moles  we 
should  value  our  humanity  at  oc,  and  our  rank,  influence,  etc.  (the 
trappings  of  our  humanity),  at  0.  Say  I  am  a  man,  and  you  say  all. 
Whether  king  or  tinker  is  a  mere  appendix. — 'Very  true,  Mr.  Car- 
lyle,  but  then — '  We  must  believe  truth  and  practise  error  ?" 

"Pray  that  your  eyes  be  opened,  that  you  may  see  what  is  before 
them  !  The  whole  Avorld  is  built,  as  it  were,  on  light  and  glory — 
only  our  spiritual  eye  must  discern  it ;  to  the  bodily  eye  Self  is  as  a 
perpetual  blinder,  and  we  see  nothing  but  darkness  and  contradic- 
tion." 

"Luther,  says  Melanchthon,  would  often,  though  in  robust  health, 
go  about  for  four  days  eating  and  drinking — nothing!  '  Vidi  con- 
tinuis  quatuor  diebus,  cum  quidem  recte  valeret,  prorsus  nihil  eden- 
tem  aut  bibentem.  Vidi  srepe  alias  multis  diebus  quotidie  exiguo 
pane  et  halece  contentum  esse. '  Content  for  many  days  with  a  lit- 
tle piece  of  bread  and  herring.  0  temporal  0  mores! 

"Luther's  character  appears  to  me  the  most  worth  discussing  of 
all  modern  men's.  He  is,  to  say  it  in  a  word,  a  great  man  in  every 
sense;  has  the  soul  at  once  of  a  conqueror  and  a  poet.  His  attach- 
ment to  music  is  to  me  a  very  interesting  circumstance;  it  was  the 
channel  for  many  of  his  finest  emotions,  for  which  words,  even 
words  of  prayer,  were  but  an  ineffectual  exponent.  Is  it  true  that 
he  did  leave  Wittenberg  for  Worms  with  nothing  but  his  Bible  and 
his  tlute?  There  is  no  scene  in  European  history  so  splendid  and 
significant.  I  have  long  had  a  sort  of  notion  to  write  some  life  or 
characteristic  of  Luther.  A  picture  of  the  public  thought  in  those 
days,  and  of  this  strong,  lofty  mind  overturning  and  new  moulding 
it,  would  be  a  fine  affair  in  many  senses.  It  would  require  immense 
research.  Alas!  alas!  when  are  we  to  have  another  Luther?  Such 
men  are  needed  from  century  to  century;  there  seldom  has  been 
more  need  of  one  than  now. " 

"Wrote  a  paper  on  Voltaire  for  the  Foreign  Review.  It  appears 
to  have  given  some,  very  slight,  satisfaction;  pieces  of  it  breathe 
afar  off  the  right  spirit  of  composition.  When  shall  I  attain  to  write 
wholly  in  tluit  spirit?" 


44  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Paper  on  Novalis  for  F.  R.  just  published.  Written  last  Janu- 
ary amid  the  frosts.  Generally  poor.  Novalis  is  an  anti-mechanist 
— a  deep  man — the  most  perfect  of  modern  spirit-seers.  I  thank 
him  for  somewhat." 

"August  5, 1829. — Also  just  finished  an  article  on  the  '  Signs  of 
the  Times '  for  the  Edinburgh  Review,  as  Jeffrey's  last  speech.  Bad 
in  general,  but  the  best  I  could  make  it  under  such  incubus  influ- 
ences." 

"Every  age  appears  surprising  and  full  of  vicissitudes  to  those 
that  live  therein — as  indeed  it  is  and  must  be — vicissitudes  from 
nothingness  to  existence;  and  from  the  tumultuous  wonders  of  ex- 
istence forward  to  the  still  wonders  of  death." 

"Politics  are  not  our  life — which  is  the  practice  and  contempla- 
tion of  goodness — but  only  the  Jiouse  wherein  that  life  is  led.  Sad 
duty  that  lies  on  us  to  parget  and  continually  repair  our  houses,  sad- 
dest of  all  when  it  becomes  our  sole  duty." 

"An  institution,  a  law  of  any  kind,  may  become  a  deserted  edi- 
fice; the  walls  standing,  no  life  going  on  within  but  that  of  bats, 
owls,  and  unclean  creatures.  It  will  then  be  pulled  down  if  it  stand 
interrupting  any  thoroughfare.  If  it  do  not  so  stand,  people  may 
leave  it  alone  till  a  grove  of  natural  wood  grow  round  it;  and  no 
eye  but  that  of  the  adventurous  antiquarian  may  know  of  its  exist- 
ence, such  a  tangle  of  brush  is  to  be  struggled  through  before  it  can 
be  come  at  and  viewed." 

"All  language  but  that  concerning  sensual  objects  is  or  has  been 
figurative.  Prodigious  influence  of  metaphors  !  Never  saw  into  it 
till  lately;  a  truly  useful  and  philosophical  work  would  be  a  good 
'Essay  on  Metaphors.'" 

"Begin  to  think  more  seriously  of  discussing  Martin  Luther  The 
only  inspiration  I  know  of  is  that  of  genius.  It  was,  is,  and  will  al- 
ways be  of  a  divine  character." 

"Wonderful  universe  !  Were  our  eyes  but  opened,  what  a  'se- 
cret' were  it  that  we  daily  see  and  handle  without  heed  !" 

"  Understanding  is  to  reason  as  the  talent  of  a  beaver  (which  can 
build  houses,  and  uses  its  tail  for  a  trowel)  to  the  genius  of  a  prophet 
and  poet.  Reason  is  all  but  extinct  in  this  age ;  it  can  never  be  alto- 
gether extinguished." 

"  'Das  Seligseyn  ist  um  eine  Ewigkeit  alter  als  das  Verdammt- 
seyn. ' — JEAN  PAUL.  " 

"  '  The  mixture  of  those  things  by  speech  which  by  nature  are  di- 
vided is  the  mother  of  all  error.' — HOOKER." 

"Error  of  political  economists  about  improving  waste  lands  as 
compared  with  manufacturing.  The  manufacture  is  worn  and  done. 
The  machine  itself  dies.  The  improved  land  remains  an  addition  to 
the  estate  forever.  What  is  the  amount  of  this  error?  I  see  not, 
but  reckon  it  something  considerable. " 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  45 

"Is  it  true  that  of  all  quacks  that  ever  quacked  (boasting  them- 
selves to  be  somebody)  in  any  age  of  the  world,  the  political  econo- 
mists of  this  age  are,  for  their  intrinsic  size,  the  loudest  ?  Mercy  on 
us,  what  a  quack-quacking;  and  their  egg,  even  if  not  a  wind  one, 
is  of  value  simply  one  half -penny." 

"Their  whole  philosophy  (!)  is  an  arithmetical  computation  per- 
formed in  words;  requires,  therefore,  the  intellect,  not  of  Socrates 
or  Shakespeare,  but  of  Cocker  or  Dilworth.  Even  if  this  were  right 
— which  it  scarcely  ever  is,  for  they  miss  this  or  the  other  item,  do 
as  they  will,  and  must  return  to  practice  and  take  the  low  posteriori 
road  after  all  —  the  question  of  money-making,  even  of  national 
money-making,  is  not  a  high  but  a  low  one ;  as  they  treat  it,  among 
the  highest.  Could  they  tell  us  how  wealth  is  and  should  be  dis- 
tributed, it  were  something;  but  they  do  not  attempt  it." 

"Political  philosophy?  Political  philosophy  should  be  a  scien- 
tific revelation  of  the  whole  secret  mechanism  whereby  men  cohere 
together  in  society;  should  tell  us  what  is  meant  by  '  country*  (pa- 
tria),  by  what  causes  men  are  happy,  moral,  religious,  or  the  con- 
trary. Instead  of  all  which,  it  tells  us  how  '  flannel  jackets '  are  ex- 
changed for  'pork  hams,'  and  speaks  much  about  'the  land  last 
taken  into  cultivation.'  They  are  the  hodmen  of  the  intellectual 
edifice,  who  have  got  upon  the  wall  and  will  insist  on  building  as  if 
they  were  masons." 

"  The  Utilitarians  are  the  '  crowning  mercy '  of  this  age,  the  sum- 
mit (now  first  appearing  to  view)  of  a  mass  of  tendencies  which 
stretch  downwards  and  spread  sidewards  over  the  whole  intellect 
and  morals  of  the  time.  By-and-by  the  clouds  will  disperse,  and  we 
shall  see  it  all  in  dead  nakedness  and  brutishness;  our  Utilitarians 
will  pass  away  with  a  great  noise.  You  think  not?  Can  the  reason 
of  man  be  trodden  underfoot  forever  by  his  sense?  Can  the  brute 
in  us  prevail  forever  over  the  angel?" 

"The  Devil  has  his  elect." 

"'Pero  digan  lo  que  quisieren  los  historiadores ;  que  desnudo 
naci,  desnudo  mi  hallo,  ni  pierdo  ni  gano,  aunque  por  verme  puesto 
in  libros  y  andar  por  ese  mundo  de  mano  en  mano,  no  se  me  da  un 
trigo;  que  digan  de  mi  todo  lo  que  quisieren,'  says  Sancho. — '  Quix- 
ote,' iv.  117." 

"January  14, 1830. — Does  it  seem  hard  to  thee  that  thou  shouldst 
toil  in  dulness,  sickness,  isolation?  Whose  lot  is  not  even  thus? 
Toil,  then,  and  tais-t&i." 

"Either  I  am  degenerating  into  a  caput  mortuum,  and  shall  never 
think  another  reasonable  thought ;  or  some  new  and  deeper  view  of 
the  world  is  about  to  arise  in  me.  Pray  Heaven  the  latter!  It  is 
dreadful  to  live  without  vision.  When  there  is  no  light  the  people 
perish." 

"With  considerable  sincerity  I  can  pray  at  this  moment,  'Grant 
me ;  O  Father,  enough  of  wisdom  to  live  well ;  prosperity  to  live 


46  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

easily  grant  me  or  not,  as  thou  seest  best.'  A  poor,  faint  prayer, 
as  such,  yet  surely  a  kind  of  wish,  as,  indeed,  it  has  generally  been 
with  me;  and  now  a  kind  of  comfort  to  feel  it  still  in  my  otherwise 
too  withered  heart." 

"I  am  a  'dismembered  limb,'  and  feel  it  again  too  deeply.  Was 
I  ever  other?  Stand  to  it  tightly,  man,  and  do  thy  utmost.  Thou 
hast  little  or  no  hold  on  the  world;  promotion  will  never  reach  thee, 
nor  true  fellowship  with  any  active  body  of  men ;  but  hast  thou  not 
still  a  hold  on  thyself?  Ja,  beym  Himmel!" 

"  Religion,  as  Novalis  thinks,  is  a  social  thing.  Without  a  church 
there  can  be  little  or  no  religion.  The  action  of  mind  on  mind  is 
mystical,  infinite;  religion,  worship,  can  hardly  (perhaps  not  all)  sup- 
port itself  without  this  aid.  The  derivation  of  Schwarmerey  indi- 
cates some  notion  of  this  in  the  Germans.  To  schwdrmen  (to  be  en- 
thusiastic) means,  says  Coleridge,  to  swarm,  to  crowd  together  and 
excite  one  another." 

"What  is  the  English  of  all  quarrels  that  have  been,  are,  or  can 
be,  between  man  and  man  ?  Simply  this.  Sir,  you  are  taking  more 
than  your  share  of  pleasure  in  this  world,  something  from  my  share ; 
and  by  the  gods  you  shall  not — nay,  I  will  fight  you  rather.  Alas! 
and  the  whole  lot  to  be  divided  is  such  a  beggarly  account  of  empty 
boxes,  truly  a  'feast  of  shells,'  not  eggs,  for  the  yolks  have  all  been 
blown  out  of  them.  Not  enough  to  fill  half  a  stomach,  and  the 
whole  human  species  famishing  to  be  at  them.  Better  we  should 
say  to  our  brother,  'Take  it,  poor  fellow,  take  that  larger  share 
which  I  reckon  mine,  and  which  thou  so  wantest;  take  it  with  a 
blessing.  Would  to  Heaven,  I  had  but  enough  for  thee  !'  This  is 
the  moral  of  the  Christian  religion ;  how  easy  to  write,  how  hard  to 
practise!" 

"I  have  now  almost  done  with  the  Germans.  Having  seized 
their  opinions,  I  must  turn  me  to  inquire  how  true  are  they?  That 
truth  is  in  them  no  lover  of  truth  will  doubt;  but  how  much?  And, 
after  all,  one  needs  an  intellectual  scheme  (or  ground-plan  of  the  uni- 
verse) drawn  with  one's  own  instruments.  I  think  I  have  got  rid  of 
materialism.  Matter  no  longer  seems  to  me  so  ancient,  so  unsubdu- 
able,  so  certain  and  palpable  as  mind,  /am  mind;  whether  matter 
or  not  I  know  not,  and  can  not.  Glimpses  into  the  spiritual  universe 
I  have  sometimes  had  (about  the  true  nature  of  religion),  the  possi- 
bility, after  all,  of  supernatural  (really  natural)  influences.  Would 
they  could  but  stay  with  me,  and  ripen  into  a  perfect  view  !" 

"Miracle?  What  is  a  miracle?  Can  there  be  a  thing  more  mi- 
raculous than  any  other  thing?  I  myself  am  a  standing  wonder.  It 
is  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty  that  giveth  us  understanding. " 

"What  is  poetry?  Do  I  really  love  poetry?  I  sometimes  fancy 
almost  not.  The  jingle  of  maudlin  persons  with  their  mere  (even 
genuine)  sensibility  is  unspeakably  fatiguing  to  me.  My  greatly 
most  delightful  reading  is  where  some  Goethe  musically  teaches  me. 
Nay,  any  fact  relating-  especially  to  man  is  still  valuable  and  pleas- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  47 

ing.  My  memory,  which  was  one  of  the  best,  has  failed  sadly  of 
late  years  (principally  the  last  two ;  yet  not  so  much  by  defect  in  the 
faculty,  I  should  say,  as  by  want  of  earnestness  in  using  it.  I  attend 
to  few  things  as  I  was  wont;  few  things  have  any  interest  for  me.  I 
live  in  a  sort  of  waking  dream.  Doubtful  it  is  in  the  highest  degree 
whether  ever  I  shall  make  men  hear  my  voice  to  any  purpose  or  not. 
Certain  only  that  I  shall  be  &  failure  if  I  do  not,  and  unhappy;  nay, 
unhappy  enough  (that  is,  with  suffering  enough)  even  if  I  do.  My 
own  talent  I  cannot  in  the  remotest  degree  attempt  at  estimating. 
Something  superior  often  does  seem  to  lie  in  me,  and  hitherto  the 
world  has  been  very  kind ;  but  many  things  inferior  also ;  so  that  I 
can  strike  no  balance.  Hang  it,  try  and  leave  this  Q-rubeln.  What 
we  have  done  is  the  only  mirror  that  can  show  us  what  we  are.  One 
great  desideratum  in  every  society  is  a  man  to  hold  his  peace. 

'Oh  Time,  how  them  fliest; 
•  False  heart,  how  thou  liest! 

Leave  chattering  and  fretting  ; 
Betake  thee  to  doing  and  getting.'  " 

"April  17. — Got  dreadfully  ill  on  with  a  most  tremendous  specula- 
tion on  history,  intended  first  as  an  introduction  to  my  German  work, 
then  found  at  last  that  it  would  not  do  there,  and  so  cut  it  out  after 
finishing  it,  and  gave  it  to  my  wife.  I  carry  less  weight  now,  and 
skim  more  smoothly  along.  Why  cannot  I  write  books  (of  that 
kind)  as  I  write  letters?  They  are  and  will  be  of  only  temporary  use. " 

' '  Francis  Jeffrey  the  other  week  offered  me  a  hundred  a  year, 
having  learned  that  this  sum  met  my  yearly  wants.  He  did  it  neat- 
ly enough,  and  I  had  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity.  What  a  state  of  so- 
ciety is  this  in  which  a  man  would  rather  be  shot  through  the  heart 
twenty  times  than  do  both  himself  and  his  neighbor  a  real  case. 
How  separate  pride  from  the  natural  necessary  feeling  of  self?  It 
is  ill  to  do,  yet  may  be  done.  On  the  whole,  I  have  been  somewhat 
in  the  wrong  about  '  independence ;'  man  is  not  independent  of  his 
brother.  Twenty  men  united  in  love  can  accomplish  much  that  to 
two  thousand  isolated  men  were  impossible.  Know  this,  and  know 
also  that  thou  hast  a  power  of  thy  own,  and  standest  with  a  Heaven 
above  even  Thcc.  And  so,  im  Tevfels  Namen,  get  to  thy  work  then. " 

"June  8. — Am  about  beginning  the  second  volume  of  that  Ger- 
man Lit.  History;  dreadfully  lazy  to  start.  I  know  and  feel  that  it 
will  be  a  trivial  insignificant  book,  do  what  I  can ;  yet  the  writing 
of  it  sickens  me  and  inflames  my  nerves  as  if  it  were  a  poem !  Were 
I  done  with  this,  I  will  endeavor  to  compile  no  more. " 

"Is  not  the  Christian  religion,  is  not  every  truly  vital  interest  of 
mankind  (?),  a  thing  that  grows  ?  Like  some  Nile  whose  springs  are 
indeed  hidden,  but  whose  full  flood,  bringing  gladness  and  fertility 
from  its  mysterious  mountains,  is  seen  and  welcomed  by  all." 

"  Eeceived  about  four  weeks  ago  a  strange  letter  from  some  Saint- 
Simonians  at  Paris,  grounded  on  my  little  'Signs  of  the  Times.'1 

1  Just  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  reprinted  in  tho  "Miscellanies." 


48  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

These  people  have  strange  notions,  not  without  a  large  spicing  of 
truth,  and  are  themselves  among  the  Signs.  I  shall  feel  curious  to 
know  what  becomes  of  them.  La  classe  la  plus  pauvre  is  evidently 
in  the  way  of  rising  from  its  present  deepest  abasement.  In  time  it 
is  likely  the  world  will  be  better  divided,  and  he  that  has  the  toil 
of  ploughing  will  have  the  first  cut  at  the  reaping. 

"A  man  with  200, 000£  a  year  eats  the  whole  fruit  of  6666  men's 
labor  through  a  year;  for  you  can  get  a  stout  spadesman  to  work 
and  maintain  himself  for  the  sum  of  301.  Thus  we  have  private  in- 
dividuals whose  wages  are  equal  to  the  wages  of  seven  or  eight 
thousand  other  individuals.  What  do  those  highly  beneficed  indi- 
viduals do  to  society  for  their  wages?  Kill  partridges.  CAN  this 
last?  No,  by  the  soul  that  is  in  man,  it  cannot,  and  will  not,  and 
shall  not ! 

"  Our  political  economists  should  collect  statistical  facts;  such  as, 
'What  is  the  lowest  sum  a  man  can  live  on  in  various  countries? 
What  is  the  highest  he  gets  to  live  on?  How  many  people  work 
with  their  hands?  How  many  with  their  heads?  How  many  not 
at  all?'  and  innumerable  such.  What  all  want  to  know  is  the  con- 
dition of  our  fellow-men;  and,  strange  to  say,  it  is  the  thing  least  of 
all  understood,  or  to  be  understood,  as  matters  go.  The  present 
'  science '  of  political  economy  requires  far  less  intellect  than  suc- 
cessful bellows-mending;  and  perhaps  does  less  good,  if  we  deduct 
all  the  evil  it  brings  us.  Though  young,  it  already  carries  marks  of 
decrepitude.  A  speedy  and  soft  death  to  it !" 

"You  see  two  men  fronting  each  other.  One  sits  dressed  in  red 
cloth,  the  other  stands  dressed  in  threadbare  blue;  the  first  says  to 
the  other,  'Be  hanged  and  anatomized!'  and  it  is  forthwith  put  in 
execution,  till  Number  Two  is  a  skeleton.  Whence  comes  it?  These 
men  have  no  physical  hold  of  each  other;  they  are  not  in  contact. 
Each  of  the  bailiffs,  etc.,  is  included  in  his  own  skin,  and  not  hooked 
to  any  other.  The  reason  is,  Man  is  a  spirit.  Invisible  influences 
run  through  Society,  and  make  it  a  mysterious  whole  full  of  life  and 
inscrutable  activities  and  capabilities.  Our  individual  existence  is 
mystery;  our  social,  still  more. 

"Nothing  can  act  but  where  it  is?  True — if  you  will — only  icJiere 
is  it?  Is  not  the  distant,  the  dead,  whom  I  love  and  sorrow  for 
HERE,  in  the  genuine  spiritual  sense,  as  really  as  the  table  I  now 
write  on?  Space  is  a  mode  of  our  sense,  so  is  time  (this  I  only  half 
understand);  we  are — we  know  not  what — light  sparkles  floating  in 
the  ether  of  the  Divinity!  So  that  this  solid  world,  after  all,  is  but 
an  air -image;  our  me  is  the  only  reality,  and  all  is  godlike  or 
God. 

"  Thou  wilt  have  no  mystery  and  mysticism;  wilt  live  in  the  day- 
light (rushlight?)  of  truth,  and  see  thy  world  and  understand  it? 
Nay,  thou  wilt  laugh  at  all  that  believe  in  a  mystery;  to  whom  the 
universe  is  an  oracle  and  temple,  as  well  as  a  kitchen  and  cattle- 
stall?  Armer  Teufel!  Doth  not  thy  cow  calve,  doth  not  thy  bull 
gender?  Nay,  peradventure,  dost  not  thou  thyself  gender?  Explain 
me  that,  or  do  one  of  two  things :  retire  into  private  places  "with  thy 
foolish  cackle;  or,  what  were  better,  give  it  up  and  weep,  not  that 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  49 

the  world  is  mean  and  disenchanted  and  prosaic,  but  that  thou  art 
vain  and  blind." 

"Is  anything  more  wonderful  than  another,  if  you  consider  it  ma- 
turely ?  /  have  seen,  no  men  rise  from  the  dead ;  I  have  seen  some 
thousands  rise  from  nothing.  I  have  not  force  to  fly  into  the  sun, 
but  I  have  force  to  lift  my  hand,  which  is  equally  strange." 

"Wonder  is  the  basis  of  worship;  the  reign  of  wonder  is  peren- 
nial, indestructible ;  only  at  certain  stages  (as  the  present)  it  is  (for 
some  short  season)  in partibus  iiifidelium." 

"  August,  1830. — What  is  a  man  if  you  look  at  him  with  the  mere 
logical  sense,  with  the  understanding  ?  A  pitiful  hungry  biped  that 
wears  breeches.  Often  when  I  read  of  pompous  ceremonials,  draw- 
ing-room levees,  and  coronations,  on  a  sudden  the  clothes  fly  off  the 
whole  party  in  my  fancy,  and  they  stand  there  straddling  in  a  half- 
ludicrous,  half -horrid  condition!"  ' 

"September!. — Yesterday  I  received  tidings  that  my  project  of 
cutting  up  that  thrice-wretched  '  History  of  German  Literature '  into 
review  articles,  and  so  realizing  something  for  my  year's  work,  will 
not  take  effect.  The  '  course  of  Providence '  (nay,  sometimes  I  al- 
most feel  that  there  w  such  a  thing  even  for  me)  seems  guiding  my 
steps  into  new  regions;  the  question  is  coming  more  and  more  tow- 
ards a  decision.  Canst  thou,  there  as  thou  art,  accomplish  aught 
good  and  true  ?  or  art  thou  to  die  miserably  as  a  vain  pretender?  It 
is  above  a  year  since  I  wrote  one  sentence  that  came  from  the  right 
place ;  since  I  did  one  action  that  seemed  to  be  really  worthy.  The 
want  of  money  is  a  comparatively  insignificant  affair;  were  I  doing 
well  otherwise,  I  could  most  readily  consent  to  go  destitute  and  suf- 
fer all  sorts  of  things.  On  the  whole,  I  am  a — .  But  tush!" 

"  The  moral  nature  of  a  man  is  not  a  composite  factitious  concern, 
but  lies  in  the  very  heart  of  his  being,  as  his  very  self  of  selves.  The 
lirst  alleviation  to  irremediable  pain  is  some  conviction  that  it  has 
been  merited,  that  it  comes  from  the  All-just — from  God." 

"  What  am  I  but  a  sort  of  ghost?  Men  rise  as  apparitions  from 
the  bosom  of  night,  and  after  grinning,  squeaking,  gibbering  some 
space,  return  thither.  The  earth  they  stand  on  is  bottomless;  the 
vault  of  their  sky  is  infinitude;  the  life-time  is  encompassed  with 
eternity.  O  wonder!  And  they  buy  cattle  or  seats  in  Parliament, 
and  drink  coarser  or  finer  fermented  liquors,  as  if  all  this  were  a  city 
that  had  foundations." 

' '  I  have  strange  glimpses  of  the  power  of  spiritual  union,  of  asso- 
ciation among  men  of  like  object.  Therein  lies  the  true  element  of 
religion.  It  is  a  truly  supernatural  climate.  All  wondrous  things, 
from  a  Pennenden  Heath  or  Penny-a-week  Purgatory  Society,  to  the 
foundation  of  a  Christianity,  or  the  (now  obsolete)  exercise  of  magic, 
take  their  rise  here.  Men  work  godlike  miracles  thereby,  and  the 
horridest  abominations.  Society  is  a  wonder  of  wonders,  and  poli- 
tics (in  the  right  sense  far,  very  far,  from  the  common  one)  is  the 

II— 3 


50  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

noblest  science.  Cor  ne  ediio!  Up  and  be  doing!  Hast  thou  not 
the  strangest,  grandest  of  all  talents  committed  to  thee — namely,  LIFE 
itself?  O  heaven!  And  it  is  momentarily  rusting  and  wasting,  if 
thou  use  it  not.  Up  and  be  doing!  and  pray  (if  thou  but  can)  to  the 
unseen  Author  of  all  thy  strength  to  guide  thee  and  aid  thee;  to 
give  thee,  if  not  victory  and  possession,  unwearied  activity  and 
Entsagen." 

"Is  not  every  thought  properly  an  inspiration?  Or  how  is  one 
thing  more  inspired  than  another?  Much  in  this." 

"Why  should  politeness  be  peculiar  to  the  rich  and  well-born? 
Is  not  every  man  alive,  and  is  not  every  man  infinitely  venerable  to 
every  other?  'There  is  but  one  temple  in  the  universe,' says  No- 
valis,  '  and  that  is  the  body  of  man.' " 

"Franz  yon  Sickingen  was  one  of  the  noblest  men  of  the  Refor- 
mation period.  He  defended  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  warred  against 
perfidious  Wurtemberg,  was  the  terror  of  evil-doers,  the  praise  of 
whoso  did  well.  Hutten  and  he  read  Luther  together:  light  rising 
in  darkness!  He  also  stood  by  GQtz  von  Berhchingen,  and  now 
walks  in  poetry.  But  why  I  mention  him  here  is  his  transcendent 
good-breeding.  He  was  at  feud  with  his  superior  the  Bishop  of 
Triers,  and  besieged  by  him,  and  violently  defending  himself  against 
injustice  at  the  moment  when  he  received  his  death-wound.  His 
castle  was  surrendered;  Triers  and  others  approached  the  brave 
man,  over  whose  countenance  the  last  paleness  was  already  spread- 
ing: he  took  off  his  cap  to  Triers,  there  as  he  lay  in  that  stern  agony. 
What  a  picture !" 

"Nulla  dies  sine  lined.  Eheu,  eheu!  Yesterday,  accordingly,  I 
\vrote  a  thing  in  dactyls,  entitled  the  'Wandering  Spirits,' which 
now  fills  and  then  filled  me  with  '  detestation  and  abhorrence.'  No 
matter — to-day  I  must  do  the  like.  Nutta  dies  sine  lined.  To  the 
persevering,  they  say,  all  things  are  possible.  Possible  or  impossi- 
ble, I  have  no  other  implement  for  trying." 

"Last  night  I  sat  up  very  late  reading  Scott's  'History  of  Scot- 
land.' An  amusing  narrative,  clear,  precise,  and  I  suppose  accurate ; 
but  no  more  a  history  of  Scotland  than  I  am  Pope  of  Rome.  A 
series  of  palace  intrigues  and  butcheries  and  battles,  little  more  im- 
portant than  those  of  Donny brook  Fair;  all  the  while  that  Scotland, 
quite  unnoticed,  is  holding  on  her  course  in  industry,  in  arts,  in  cult- 
ure, as  if  '  Langside '  and  '  Clean-the-Causeway '  had  remained  un- 
fought.  Strange  that  a  man  should  think  that  he  was  writing  the 
history  of  a  nation  while  he  is  chronicling  the  amours  of  a  wanton 
young  woman  called  queen,  and  a  sulky  booby  recommended  to 
kingship  for  his  fine  limbs,  and  then  blown  up  with  gunpowder  for 
his  ill-behavior!  Good  heaven!  let  them  fondle  and  pout  and  bicker 
ad  libitum :  what  has  God's  fair  creation  and  man's  immortal  destiny 
to  do  with  them  and  their  trade? 

"  One  inference  I  have  drawn  from  Scott:  that  the  people  in  those 
old  days  had  a  singular  talent  for  nicknames:  King  Toom- Tabard, 
Bell-the-Cat  (less  meritorious),  the  Foul  Eaid,  the  Bound-about  Maid, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  51 

Clean  -the-  Causeway,  the  Tukhan  Prelates,  etc.,  etc.  Apparently 
there  was  more  humor  in  the  national  mind  than  now. 

"For  the  rest,  the  '  Scottish  History '  looks  like  that  of  a  gypsy  en- 
campment— industry  of  the  rudest,  largely  broken  by  sheer  indo- 
lence ;  smoke,  sluttishness,  hunger,  scab,  and — blood.  Happily,  as 
hinted,  Scotland  herself  was  not  there. 

"Lastly,  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  nobles  of  the  country  have 
maintained  a  quite  despicable  behavior  from  the  times  of  Wallace 
downwards.  A  selfish,  ferocious,  famishing,  unprincipled  set  of 
hyenas,  from  whom  at  no  time  and  in  no  way  has  the  country  de- 
rived any  benefit.  The  day  is  coming  when  these,  our  modern 
hyenas  (though  toothless,  still  mischievous  and  greedy  beyond  limit), 
will,  quietly  I  hope,  be  paid  off:  Canaittefaineante,  que  faites-vous  Id  ? 
Down  with  your  double-barrels;  take  spades,  if  ye  can  do  no  better, 
and  work  or  die." 

"The  quantity  of  pain  thou  feelest  is  indicative  of  the  quantity 
of  life,  of  talent,  thou  hast:  a  stone  feels  no  pain.  (Is  that  a  fact?)" 

"  September  9. — Wrote  a  fractionlet  of  verse  entitled  '  The  Beetle ' 1 
(a  real  incident  on  Glaisters  Moor),  which,  alas  !  must  stand  for  the 
tinea,  both  of  Tuesday  and  Wednesday.  To-day  I  am  to  try  I  know 
not  what.  Greater  clearness  will  arrive.  I  make  far  most  progress 
when  I  walk,  on  solitary  roads — of  which  there  are  enough  here." 

"Last  night  came  a  whole  bundle  of  Fraser's  Magazines,  etc.: 
two  little  papers  by  my  brother  in  them,  some  fables  by  me ;  and  on 
the  whole  such  a  hurly-burly  of  rodomontade,  punch,  loyalty,  and 
Saturnalian  Toryism  as  eye  hath  not  seen.  This  out-Blackwoods 
Blackwood.  Nevertheless,  the  thing  has  its  meaning — a  kind  of 
wild  popular  lower  comedy,  of  which  John  Wilson  is  the  inventor. 
It  may,  perhaps  (for  it  seems  well  adapted  to  the  age),  carry  down 
his  name  to  other  times,  as  his  most  remarkable  achievement.  All 
the  magazines  (except  the  New  Monthly)  seem  to  aim  at  it;  a  cer- 
tain quickness,  fluency  of  banter,  not  excluding  sharp  insight,  and 
merry-andrew  drollery,  and  even  humor,  are  available -here;  how- 
ever, the  grand  requisite  seems  to  be  impudence,  and  a  fearless  com- 
mitting of  yourself  to  talk  in  your  drink.  Literature  has  nothing  to 
do  with  this,  but  printing  has;  and  printing  is  now  no  more  the 
peculiar  symbol  and  livery  of  literature  than  writing  was  in  Guten- 
berg's day." 

"Great  actions  are  sometimes  historically  barren ;  smallest  actions 
have  taken  root  in  the  moral  soil,  and  grown  like  banana  forests  to 
cover  whole  quarters  of  the  world.  Aristotle's  philosophy  and  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  (and  both,  too,  had  fair  trial),  the  '  Mecanique 
Celeste 'and  the 'Sorrows  of  Werter,' Alexander's  expedition  and 
that  of  Paul  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  !  Of  these,  however, '  Wer- 
ter '  is  half  a  gourd,  and  only  by  its  huge  decidua  (to  be  used  as  ma- 
nure) will  fertilize  the  future.  So,  too,  with  the  rest;  all  are  decidu- 
ous, and  must  at  last  make  manure,  only  at  longer  dates.  Yet  of 
some  the  root  also  (?)  seems  to  be  undying. 

1  "  Miscellanies,"  voL  i.,  Appendix  II.  No.  6 


53  LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

"  What  are  Schiller  and  Goethe  if  you  try  them  in  that  way?  As 
yet  it  is  too  soon  to  try  them.  No  true  effort  can  be  lost." 

"One  thing  we  see:  the  moral  nature  of  man  is  deeper  than  his 
intellectual;  things  planted  down  into  the  former  may  grow  as  if 
forever;  the  latter  as  a  kind  of  drift  mould  produces  only  animals. 
What  is  Jesus  Christ's  significance?  AltogetJier  moral.  What  is 
Jeremy  Beutham's  significance?  Altogether  intellectual,  logical. 
I  name  him  as  the  representative  of  a  class  important  only  for  their 
numbers,  intrinsically  wearisome,  almost  pitiable  and  pitiful.  Logic 
is  their  sole  foundation, no  other  even  recognized  as  possible;  where- 
fore their  system  is  a  machine  and  cannot  grow  or  endure;  but  after 
thrashing  for  a  little  (and  doing  good  service  that  way)  must  thrash 
itself  to  pieces  and  be  made  fuel.  Alas,  poor  England !  stupid,  pur- 
blind, pudding-eating  England!  Bentham  with  his  Mills  grinding 
thee  out  morality ;  and  some  Macaulay,  also  be-aproned  and  a 
grinder,  testing  it,  and  decrying'  it,  *  because — it  is  not  his  own  Whig 
established  Quern-morality — I  mean  that  the  Utilitarians  have  log- 
ical machinery,  and  do  grind  fiercely  and  potently,  on  their  ow?i 
foundation  ;  whereas  the  Whigs  have  no  foundation,  but  must  stick 
up  their  hand-mills,  or  even  pepper-mills,  on  what  fixture  they  can 
come  at,  and  then  grind  as  it  pleases  Heaven.  The  Whigs  are  ama- 
teurs, the  Radicals  are  guild-brethren." 

' '  The  sin  of  this  age  is  dilettanteism ;  the  Whigs  and  all '  moderate 
Tories '  are  the  grand  dilettanti.  I  begin  to  feel  less  and  less  patience 
for  them.  This  is  no  world  where  a  man  should  stand  trimming 
his  whiskers,  looking  on  at  work  or  touching  it  with  the  point  of  a 
gloved  finger.  Man  sollte  greifen  zuf  There  is  more  hope  of  an 
atheist  utilitarian,  of  a  superstitious  ultra  (Tory),  than  of  such  a 
lukewarm  withered  mongrel.  He  would  not  believe,  though  one 
rose  from  the  dead.  He  is  wedded  to  idols — let  him  alone." 

"September,  about  the  28t7i.* — Rain!  rain!  rain!  The  crops  all 
lying  tattered,  scattered,  and  unripe;  the  winter's  bread  still  under 
the  soaking  clouds!  God  pity  the  poor  !" 

"It  was  a  wise  regulation  which  ordained  that  certain  days  and 
times  should  be  set  apart  for  seclusion  and  meditation — whether  as 
fasts  or  not  may  reasonably  admit  of  doubt;  the  business  being  to 
get  out  of  the  body  to  philosophize.  But  on  the  whole  there  is  a 
deep  significance  in  SILENCE.  Were  a  man  forced  for  a  length  of 
time  but  to  hold  his  peace,  it  were,  in  most  cases,  an  incalculable  ben- 
efit to  his  insight.  Thought  works  in  silence,  so  does  virtue.  One 
might  erect  statues  to  Silence.  I  sometimes  think  it  were  good  for 
me,  who  after  all  cannot  err  much  in  loquacity  here,  did  I  impose  on 
myself,  at  set  times,  the  duty  of  not  speaking  for  a  day.  What  folly 
would  one  avoid  did  the  tongue  lie  quiet  till  the  mind  had  finished 
and  was  calling  for  utterance.  Not  only  our  good  thoughts,  but  our 
good  purposes,  also,  are  frittered  asunder,  and  dissipated  by  uusea- 

1  Nfaaaulay's  •'  F.^suy  on  .Tntnos  Mill.'1 

2  Even  a  regular  count  of  days  was  lost  at  Craigenputtock. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  53 

sonable  speaking  of  them.  "Words,  the  strangest  product  of  our 
nature,  are  also  the  most  potent.  Beware  of  speaking.  Speech  is 
human,  silence  is  divine,  yet  also  brutish  and  dead:  therefore  we 
must  learn  both  arts;  they  are  both  difficult.  Flower  roots  hidden 
under  soil.  Bees  working  in  darkness,  etc.  The  soul,  too,  in 
silence.  Let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right  hand  doeth. 
Indeed,  secrecy  is  the  element  of  all  goodness;  every  virtue,  every 
beautv,  is  mysterious.  I  hardly  understand  even  the  surface  of 
this.  .  .  ." 

"  October  28. — Written  a  strange  piece  '  On  Clothes.'  *  Know  not 
what  will  come  of  it." 

"Gutes  Pferd 
Ist's  Hufors  worth  (myself?    November  24)." 

"Received  the  'ornamented  Schiller'  from  Goethe,  and  wondered 
not  a  little  to  see  poor  old  Craigenputtock  engraved  at  Frankfort-on- 
thc-Main.  If  I  become  anything,  it  will  look  well;  if  I  become  noth- 
ing, a  piece  of  kind  dotage  (on  his  part).  Sent  away  the  '  Clothes,' 
of  which  I  could  make  a  kind  of  book,  but  cannot  afford  it.  Have 
still  the  book  in  petto  (?),  but  in  the  most  chaotic  shape." 

"The  Whigs  in  office,  and  Baron  Brougham  Lord  Chancellor! 
Hay-stacks  and  corn-stacks  burning  over  all  the  south  and  middle  of 
England  !  Where  will  it  end  ?  Revolution  on  the  back  of  revolu- 
tion for  a  century  yet?  Religion,  the  cement  of  society,  is  not  here: 
we  can  have  no  permanent  beneficent  arrangement  of  affairs." 

"Not  that  we  want  no  aristocracy,  but  that  we  want  a  true  one. 
While  the  many  work  with  their  hands,  let  the  few  work  with  their 
heads  and  hearts,  honestly,  and  not  with  a  shameless  villany  pretend 
to  work,  or  even  openly  steal.  Were  the  landlords  all  hanged,  and 
their  estates  given  to  the  poor,  we  should  be  (economically)  much 
happier,  perhaps,  for  the  space  of  thirty  years.  But  the  population 
would  be  doubled  then  ;  and,  again,  the  hunger  of  the  unthrifty 
would  burn  the  granary  of  the  industrious.  Alas  that  there  is  no 
Church,  and,  as  yet,  no  apparent  possibility  of  one  !" 

"The  divine  right  of  squires  is  equal  to  the  divine  right  of  kings, 
and  not  superior !  A  word  has  made  them,  and  a  word  can  unmake 
them." 

"  I  have  no  property  in  anything  whatsoever;  except,  perhaps  (if  I 
am  a  virtuous  man),  in  my  own  free-will.  Of  my  body  I  have  only 
a  life-rent ;  of  all  that  is  without  my  skin  only  an  accidental  posses- 
sion, so  long  as  I  can  keep  it.  Vain  man!  Are  the  stars  thine  be- 
cause thou  lookest  on  them?  Is  that  piece  of  earth  thine  because 
thou  hast  eaten  of  its  fruits?  Thy  proudest  palace,  what  is  it  but  a 
tent:  pitched  not  indeed  for  days,  but  for  years?  The  earth  is  the 
Lord'*.  Remember  this,  and  seek  other  duties  than  game- preserving, 
wouldst  thou  not  be  an  interloper,  sturdy  beggar,  and  even  thief. 

•Faules  Pferd 
Keines  Hafcrs  werth.' 

1  First  sketch  of  "  Sartor  Rcsartus,"  intended  for  a  review  article. 


54  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,  and  the  idler  of  his  also— namely, 
of  starvation." 

"Byron  we  call  'a  dandy  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief.' 
That  is  a  brief  definition  of  him." 

"What  is  art  and  poetry?  Is  the  beautiful  really  higher  than  the 
good?  A  higher  form  thereof  ?  Thus  were  a  poet  not  only  a  priest, 
but  a  high-priest. " 

"  When  Goethe  and  Schiller  say  or  insinuate  that  art  is  higher  than 
religion,  do  they  mean  perhaps  this?  That  whereas  religion  repre- 
sents (what  is  the  essence  of  truth  for  man)  the  good  as  infinitely  (the 
word  is  emphatic)  different  from  the  evil,  but  sets  them  in  a  state  of 
hostility  (as  in  heaven  and  hell),  art  likewise  admits  and  inculcates 
this  quite  infinite  difference,  but  witlwut  hostility,  with  peacefulness, 
like  the  difference  of  two  poles  which  cannot  coalesce  yet  do  not 
quarrel — nay,  should  not  quarrel,  for  both  are  essential  to  the  whole. 
In  this  way  is  Goethe's  morality  to  be  considered  as  a  higher  (apart 
from  its  comprehensiveness,  nay,  universality)  than  has  hitherto  been 
promulgated  ?  Sehr  einseitiy  !  Yet  perhaps  there  is  a  glimpse  of  the 
truth  here. " 

"Examine  by  logic  the  import  of  thy  life  and  of  all  lives.  What 
is  it?  A  making  of  meal  into  manure,  and  of  manure  into  meal.  To 
the  cui  bono  there  is  no  answer  from  logic." 

"December  29,  1830. — The  old  year  just  expiring;  one  of  the  most 
worthless  years  I  have  spent  for  a  long  time.  Durch  eigne  und  an- 
derer  Schuld!  But  words  are  worse  than  nothing.  To  thy  review 
(Taylor's  'Hist.  Survey ').  Is  it  the  most  despicable  of  work?  Yet 
is  it  not  too  good  for  thee  ?  Oh,  I  care  not  for  poverty,  little  even  for 
disgrace,  nothing  at  all  for  want  of  renown.  But  the  horrible  feel- 
ing is  when  I  cease  my  own  struggle,  lose  the  consciousness  of  my 
own  strength,  and  become  positively  quite  worldly  and  wicked. 

"In  the  paths  of  fortune  (fortune!)  I  have  made  no  advancement 
since  last  year;  but,  on  the  contrary  (owing  chiefly  to  that  '  German 
Literary  History '  one  way  and  another),  considerably  retrograded. 
No  matter:  had  I  but  progressed  in  the  other  better  path!  But  alas, 
alas!  howsoever,  pocas palabras !  /am  still  here." 

"  Bist  Du  glucklich,  Du  Gute,  dass  Du  unter  der  Erde  bist?  Wo 
stehst  Du?  L'ebst  Du  mich  noch?  God  is  the  God  of  the  dead  as 
well  as  of  the  living.  The  dead  as  the  living  are  —  where  He  wills." 

"  This  Taylor  is  a  wretched  atheist  and  Philistine.  It  is  my  duty 
(perhaps)  to  put  the  flock  whom  he  professes  to  lead  on  their  guard. 
Let  me  do  it  well.1" 

"February  7,  1831. — Finished  the  review  of  Taylor  some  three 
weeks  ago,  and  sent  it  off.  It  is  worth  little,  and  only  partially  in  a 
right  spirit. 

"  Sent  to  Jack  to  liberate  my  '  Teufelsdrockh '  from  editorial  dur- 
ance in  London,  and  am  seriously  thinking  to  make  a  book  of  it. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE.  55 

The  thiug  is  not  right — not  art ;  yet  perhaps  a  nearer  approach  to 
art  than  i  have  yet  made.  We  ought  to  try.  I  want  to  get  it  done, 
and  then  translate  'Faust,'  as  I  have  partially  promised  to  Goethe. 
Through  '  Teufelsdrockh '  I  am  yet  far  from  seeing  my  way;  never- 
theless, materials  are  partly  forthcoming." 

"No  sense  from  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review  ;  have  nearly  deter- 
mined on  opening  a  correspondence  on  the  matter  of  that  everlasting 
MS.1  with  Bowring  of  the  Westminster.  Could  write  also  a  paper  on 
the  Saiut-Simonians.  One  too  on  Dr.  Johnson,  for  Napier.  Such 
are  the  financial  aspects.  N.  B.  I  have  some  five  pounds  to  front  tJie 
world  with — and  expect  no  more  for  months.  Jack,  too,  is  in  the 
neap-tide.  Hand  to  the  oar." 

"All  Europe  is  in  a  state  of  disturbance,  of  revolution.  About 
this  very  time  they  may  be  debating  the  question  of  British  '  Reform' 
in  London.  The  Parliament  opened  last  week.  Our  news  of  it  ex- 
pected on  Wednesday.  The  times  are  big  with  change.  Will  one 
century  of  constant  fluctuations  serve  us,  or  shall  we  need  two? 
Their  Parliamentary  reforms  and  all  that  are  of  small  moment; 
a  beginning  (of  good  and  evil),  nothing  more.  The  whole  frame  of 
society  is  rotten,  and  must  go  for  fuel  wood — and  where  is  the  new 
frame  to  come  from?  I  know  not,  and  no  man  knows." 

"The  only  sovereigns  of  the  world  in  these  clays  are  the  literary 
men  (were  there  any  such  in  Britain) — the  prophets.  It  is  always  a 
theocracy:  the  king  has  to  be  anointed  by  the  priest;  and  now  the 
priest — the  Goethe,  for  example — will  not,  cannot  consecrate  the  exist- 
ing king,  who  therefore  is  a  usurper,  and  reigns  only  by  sufferance. 
What  were  the  bet  that  King  William  were  the  last  of  that  profes- 
sion in  Britain,  and  Queen  Victoria  never  troubled  with  the  sceptre 
at  all?  Mighty  odds:  yet  nevertheless  not  infinite;  for  what  thing  is 
certain  now?  No  mortal  cares  twopence  for  any  king,  or  obeys  any 
king  except  through  compulsion;  and  society  is  not  a  ship  of  war. 
Its  government  cannot  always  be  a  press-gang." 

"  What  are  the  episcopal  dignitaries  saying  to  it  ?  Who  knows  but 
Edward  Irving  may  not  yet  be  a  bishop !  They  will  clutch  round 
them  for  help,  and  unmuzzle  all  manner  of  bull-dogs  when  the  thief 
is  at  the  gate.  Bull-dogs  with  teeth.  The  generality  have  no  teeth 
in  that  kennel. " 

"Kings  do  reign  by  divine  right,  or  not  at  all.  The  king  that  were 
God-appointed  would  be  an  emblem  of  God  and  could  demand  all 
obedience  from  us.  But  where  is  that  king?  The  best  man,  could 
we  find  him,  were  he.  Tell  us,  tell  us,  O  ye  codifiers  and  statists  and 
economists,  how  we  shall  find  him  and  raise  him  to  the  throne :  or 
else  admit  that  the  science  of  polity  is  worse  than  unknown  to  you." 

"Earl  (jarl—yarl),  count,  duke,  knight,  etc.,  are  all  titles  derived 
iromf (ihting.  The  honor-titles  in  a  future  time  will  derive  them- 
selves from  knowing  and  -well-doing.  They  will  also  be  conferred 

i  German  Literature. 


56  LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

with  more  deliberation  and  by  better  judges.    This  is  a  prophecy  of 
mine." 

"God  is  above  U8,  else  the  future  of  the  world  were  well-nigh  des- 
perate. Go  where  we  may,  the  deep  heaven  will  be  round  us." 

"Jeffrey  is  Lord  -  advocate  and  M.P.  Sobbed  and  shrieked  at 
taking  office,  like  a  bride  going  to  be  married.  I  wish  him  altogether 
well,  but  reckon  he  is  on  the  wrong  course;  Whiggism,  I  believe,  is 
all  but  forever  done.  Away  with  dilettanteism  and  Machiavelism, 
though  we  should  get  atheism  and  sansculottism  in  their  room !  The 
latter  are  at  least  substantial  things,  and  do  not  build  on  a  continued 
wilful  falsehood.  But  oh  !  but  oh !  where  is  '  Teufelsdrockh '  all 
this  while?  The  southwest  is  busy  thawing  off  that  horrible  snow- 
storm. Time  rests  not — thou  only  art  idle.  To  pen!  to  pen!" 

"  '  Benvenuto  Cellini '  a  very  worthy  book;  gives  more  insight  into 
Italy  than  fifty  Leo  Tenths  would  do.  A  remarkable  man  Benve- 
nuto, and  in  a  remarkable  scene.  Religion  and  art  with  ferocity  and 
sensuality ;  polished  respect  with  stormf ul  independence ;  faithfully 
obedient  subjects  to  popes  who  are  not  hierarchs,  but  plain  scoun- 
drels !  Life  was  far  sunnier  and  richer  then ;  but  a  time  of  change, 
loudly  called  for,  was  advancing,  and  but  lately  has  reached  its 
crisis.  Goethe's  essay  on  Benvenuto  quite  excellent. " 

"Pope's  'Homer's  Odyssey,'  surely  a  very  false,  and,  though  in- 
genious and  talented,  yet  bad  translation.  The  old  epics  are  great 
because  they  (musically)  show  us  the  whole  world  of  those  old  days. 
A  modern  epic  that  did  the  like  would  be  equally  admired,  and  for 
us  far  more  admirable.  But  where  is  the  genius  that  can  write  it? 
Patience  !  patience  !  he  will  be  here  one  of  these  centuries. 

"Is  Homer  or  Shakespeare  the  greater  genius?  It  were  hard  to 
say.  Shakespeare's  world  is  the  more  complex,  the  more  spiritual, 
and  perhaps  his  mastery  over  it  was  equally  complete.  '  We  are  such 
stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of.'  There  is  the  basis  of  a  whole  poetic 
universe.  To  that  mind  all  forms  and  figures  of  men  and  things 
would  become  ideal. 

"What  is  a  whole?  or  how  specially  does  a  poem  differ  from  prose? 
Ask  not  a  definition  of  it  in  words,  which  can  hardly  express  com- 
mon logic  correctly.  Study  to  create  in  thyself  a  feeling  of  it ;  like 
so  much  else,  it  cannot  be  made  clear,  hardly  even  to  thy  thought  (?). 

"I  see  some  vague  outline  of  what  a  whole  is:  also  how  an  indi- 
vidual delineation  may  be  '  informed  with  the  Infinite ;'  may  appear 
hanging  in  the  universe  of  time  and  space  (partly) :  in  which  case  is 
it  a  poem  and  a  whole?  Therefore  are  the  true  heroic  poems  of 
these  times  to  be  written  with  the  ink  of  science  ?  Were  a  correct 
philosophic  biography  of  a  man  (meaning  by  philosophic  all  that  the 
name  can  include)  the  only  method  of  celebrating  him?  The  true 
history  (had  we  any  such,  or  even  generally  any  dream  of  such)  the 
true  epic  poem?  I  partly  begin  to  surmise  so.  What,  after  all,  is 
the  true  proportion  of  St.  Matthew  to  Homer — of  the  Crucifixion  to 
the  fall  of  Troy?" 

"On  the  whole,  I  wish  I  could  define  to  myself  the  true  relation  of 
moral  genius  to  poetic  genius;  of  religion  to  poetry.  Are  they  one 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  57 

and  the  same — different  forms  of  the  same;  and  if  so,  which  is  to 
stand  higher,  the  Beautiful  or  the  Good?  Schiller  and  Goethe  seem 
to  say  the  former,  as  if  it  included  the  latter,  and  might  supersede  it: 
how  truly  I  can  never  well  see.  Meanwhile  that  ihe  faculties  always 
go  together  seems  clear.  It  is  a  gross  calumny  on  human  nature  to 
say  that  there  ever  was  a  mind  of  surpassing  talent  that  did  not  also 
surpass  in  capability  of  virtue ;  and  vice  versa.  Nevertheless,  in  both 
cases  there  are  female  geniuses  too,  minds  that  admire  and  receive, 
but  can  hardly  create.  I  have  observed  that  in  these  also  the  taste  for 
religion  and  for  poetry  go  together.  The  most  wonderful  words  I 
ever  heard  of  being  uttered  by  man  are  those  in  the  four  Evangelists 
by  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Their  intellectual  talent  is  hardly  inferior  to 
their  moral.  On  this  subject,  if  I  live,  I  hope  to  have  much  to  say. 
' '  And  so  ends  my  first  note-book,  after  nigh  eight  years,  here  at 
Craigenputtock,  at  my  oirn  hearth,  and  though  amid  trouble  and  dis- 
piritment  enough,  yet  with  better  outlooks  than  I  had  then.  My 
outward  world  is  not  nmch  better  (yes  it  is,  though  I  have  far  less 
money),  but  my  inward  is,  and  I  can  promise  myself  never  to  be  so 
miserable  again.  Farewell,  ye  that  have  fallen  asleep  since  then; 
farewell,  though  distant,  perhaps  near  me !  Welcome  the  good  and 
evil  that  is  to  come,  through  which  God  assist  me  to  struggle  wisely. 
What  have  I  to  look  back  on?  Little  or  nothing.  What  forward 
to?  My  own  small  sickly  force  amid  wild  enough  whirlpools !  The 
more  diligently  apply  it  then.  Nt<£  t-p 


CHAPTER  V. 

A.D.  1830.      JET.  35. 

IT  appears  from  the  Journal  that  early  in  1830  Carlyle  had  ad- 
vanced so  far  with  his  "  History  of  German  Literature"  that  he  was 
hoping  soon  to  see  it  published  and  off  his  hands.  A  first  sketch 
of  "  Teuf elsdrockh  " — the  egg  out  of  which  "  Sartor  Resarlus"  was 
to  grow  —  had  been  offered  without  result  to  London  magazine 
editors.  Proposals  were  made  to  him  for  a  Life  of  Goethe.  But 
on  Goethe  he  had  said  all  that  for  the  present  he  wished  to  say. 
Luflier  was  hanging  before  him  as  the  subject  which  he  wanted 
next  to  grapple,  could  he  but  find  the  means  of  doing  it.  But  the 
preliminary  reading  necessary  for  such  a  work  was  wide  and  varied. 
The  books  required  were  not  to  be  had  at  Craigenputtock;  and  if 
the  literary  history  could  once  be  finished,  and  any  moderate  sum 
of  money  realized  upon  it,  he  meditated  spending  six  months  in 
Germany,  taking  Mrs.  Carlyle  with  him,  to  collect  materials.  He 
had  great  hopes  of  what  he  could  do  with  Luther.  An  editor  had 
offered  to  bring  it  out  in  parts  in  a  magazine,  but  Carlyle  would  not 
hear  of  this. 

"I  rather  believe  [he  said]  that  when  I  write  that  book  of  the 
great  German  lion,  it  shall  be  the  best  book  I  have  ever  written ; 
II.— 3* 


58  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  go  forth,  I  think,  on  its  own  legs.  Do  you  know,  we  are 
actually  talking  of  spending  the  next  winter  in  Weimar,  and  pre- 
paring all  the  raw  material  of  a  right  Luther  there  at  the  founkun- 
head— that  is,  of  course,  if  I  can  get  the  history  done  and  have 
the  cash." 

Jeffrey  started  at  the  idea  of  the  winter  at  Weimar,  at  least  for 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  and  suggested  that  if  it  was  carried  out  she  should  be 
left  in  his  charge  at  Edinburgh.  He  was  inclined,  he  said,  to  be 
jealous  of  the  possible  influence  of  Goethe,  who  had  half  bewitched 
her  at  a  distance — unless,  indeed,  the  spell  was  broken  by  the  per- 
sonal presence  of  him.  But  Jeffrey's  fears  were  unnecessary;  there 
was  no  Weimar  possible  for  Carlyle,  and  no  "Life  of  Luther." 
The  unfortunate  "German  Literature"  could  not  find  a  publisher 
who  would  so  much  as  look  at  it.  Boyd,  who  had  brought  out  the 
volumes  of  "German  Romance,"  wrote  that  he  would  be  proud  to 
publish  for  Carlyle  upon  almost  any  other  subject  except  German 
literature.  He  knew  that  in  this  department  Carlyle  was  superior 
to  any  other  author  of  the  day,  but  the  work  proposed  was  not 
calculated  to  interest  the  British  public.  Every  one  of  the  books 
about  German  literature  had  been  failures — most  of  them  ruinous 
failures.  The  feeling  in  the  public  mind  was  that  everything  Ger- 
man was  especially  to  be  avoided,  and,  with  the  highest  esteem  for 
Carlyle's  talent,  he  dared  not  make  him  an  offer.  Even  cut  up  into 
articles,  he  still  found  no  one  anxious  to  take  it.  There  was  still 
another  hope.  Carlyle's  various  essays  had  been  greatly  noticed 
and  admired.  An  adventurous  bookseller  might  perhaps  be  found 
who  would  bid  for  a  collected  edition  of  them.  The  suggestion 
took  no  effect,  however.  The  "  Teuf elsdrSckh "  had  to  be  sent 
back  from  London,  having  created  nothing  but  astonished  dislike. 
Nothing  was  to  be  done,  therefore,  but  to  remain  at  Craigenputtock 
and  work  on,  hoping  for  better  times.  Fresh  articles  were  written 
— a  second  on  Jean  Paul,  a  slight  one  on  Madame  de  Stafil,  with 
the  first  of  the  two  essays  on  history  which  are  published  in  the 
"Miscellanies."  He  was  thus  able  to  live,  but  not,  so  far  as  money 
was  concerned,  to  overtake  the  time  which  he  had  spent  over  his 
unsalable  book;  his  finances  remained  sadly  straitened,  and  he 
needed  all  his  energy  to  fight  on  against  discouragement.  One 
bright  gleam  of  comfort  came  to  him  from  Weimar  in  the  summer 
of  this  year.  Communication  had  been  kept  up  constantly  with 
Goethe  since  the  Comely  Bank  time.  In  the  winter  1829-30  Mrs. 
Carlyle,  writing  to  her  mother-in-law  at  Scotsbrig,  says: 

"Carlyle  is  over  head  and  ears  in  business  to-night  writing  letters 
to  all  the  four  winds.  There  is  a  box  to  be  despatched  for  Goethe 
containing  all  manner  of  curiosities,  the  most  precious  of  which  is 
a  lock  of  my  hair.  There  is  also  a  smart  Highland  bonnet  for  his 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  59 

daughter-in-law,  accompanied  by  a  nice  little  piece  of  poetry  pro- 
fessing to  be  written  by  me,  but  in  truth  I  did  not  write  a  word 
of  it. 

"Scotland  prides  her  in  the  bonnet  blue 
That  brooks  no  stain  ia  love  or  war; 
Be  it  on  Ottilic's  head  a  token  true 
Of  Scottish  love  to  kind  Weimar." 

Goethe's  answer  reached  Craigenputtock  about  June.1 

»  "  Das  werthe  Schatzkiistlein,  nachdem  es  durch  den  strcngsten  Winter  vom  Con- 
tinent lacge  abgehalteu  wordcu,  ist  cudlich  uni  die  Hall'te  Marz  glucklich  angelangt. 

"  Om  von  seinem  Gehalt  zu  sprechcn,  erwuhne  ich  zuerst  die  uuschiitzbare  Locke, 
die  man  wohl  mil  dem  theuren  Haupte  verbunden  mochte  gesehen  habcu,  die  aber 
hier  einzeln  erblickt  mich  fast  erschreckt  hiitte.  Der  Gegeusatz  war  zu  auOallend; 
denn  ich  brauchte  meiuen  Scuiidel  nicht  zu  beruhren,  uni  zu  wissen,  dass  daselbst  nur 
Stoppeln  sich  hervorthun.  Es  war  mir  nicht  notbig  vor  den  Spiegel  zu  tretcn,  um 
zu  erfahren,  dass  cine  lange  Zeitreise  ihnen  ein  missfarbiges  Anseuen  gegeben.  Die 
Unmuglichkeit  der  verlangtcn  Erwiederung  Del  mir  aufs  Herz,  und  uothigte  mich  zu 
Gedanken,  deren  man  sich  zu  entschlagen  pflegt.  Am  Ende  aber  blieb  mir  doch 
nichts  ubrig,  als  mich  an  der  Vorstellung  zu  beguugen,  cine  solche  Gabe  sey  dankbar- 
lichst  phne  Hoffnung  irgend  einer  geniigenden  Gegengabe  anzunehmen.  Sie  soil  auch 
heilig  in  der  ihrer  wurdigen  Brieftasche  aufbewahrt  bleibeu,  uud  nur  das  Liebenswur- 
digsto  ihr  zugesellt  werden. 

"  Der  schottische  elegante  Turban  hat,  wie  ich  versichern  darf,  zu  mauchem  Ver- 
gnuglichen  Gelegenheit  gegeben.  Seit  vielen  Jahren  werden  wir  von  den  Einwohnern 
der  drey  Konigreiche  besucht,  welche  gern  cine  Zeit  lang  bey  uns  vcrweilen  und  gute 
G«sellschaft  geniessen  mogen.  Hiernnter  befinden  sich  zwar  weniger  Schotten,  doch 
kann  es  nicht  fehlen,  dass  nicht  noch  das  Andenken  an  einen  solchen  Landsmann  sich 
in  einem  schOnen  Herzen  so  lebendig  finde,  um  die  National-Prachtmutze,  die  Distel 
mil  eingeschlossen,  als  einen  wunschenswerthesten  Schmuck  anzusehen;  und  die 
giitige  Senderinn  hiitte  sich  gewiss  gefreut,  das  lieblichste  Gesicht  von  der  Welt  darun- 
ter  Uervorgucken  zu  sehen.  Ottilie  aber  daukt  zum  allerverbindlichsten,  und  wird, 
sobald  unsere  Trauertage  voruber  sind,  damit  glorreich  aufzutretcn  nicht  ermangeln. 

"Lassen  Sie  mich  nun  eine  niichste  Gegensendung  ankundigeu,  welche  zum  Junt 
als  der  gunstigsten  Jahreszeit  sich  wohl  wird  zusammcngefundeu  haben.  Sie  erhalten: 

"1.  Das  Exemplar  Ihres  ubersetzten  'Schiller,'  geschmiickt  mil  den  Bildern  Ihrer 
landlichen  Wohnung  (by  day  and  night!),  begleitet  von  einigen  Bogen  in  meiner  Art, 
wodurch  ich  zugleich  dem  Biichlein  offnen  Eingang  zu  verschaflen,  besonders  aber  die 
Communication  beyder  Lander  und  Literatureu  lebhaftcr  zu  erregen  tnichte.  Ich 
wunsche,  dass  diese  nach  Kenntniss  des  Publicums  angewandteu  Mittel  Ihnen  nicht 
missfallen;  auch  der  Gebrauch,  den  ich  von  Stelleu  unserer  Correspondenz  gernacht, 
nicht  als  Indiscretion  m<">ge  gedeutet  werden.  Wenn  ich  mich  in  jungeren  Jahren  vor 
dergleichen  Mittheilungen  durchaus  gehiitet.  so  zieint  es  dem  hohern  Alter  auch  solche 
Wege  nicht  zu  verschmiib.cn.  Die  guustige  Aufuahme  des  Schillcrischen  Briefwech- 
sels  gab  mir  eigentlich  hiezu  Aulass  und  Muth. 

"Ferner  Qnden  Sie  beygelegt: 

"  2.  Die  vier  noch  fehlende  Bande  gedachter  Briefe.  Mogen  Sie  Ihnen  als  Zauber- 
wagen  zu  Dienste  stehen,  um  sich  in  der  damaligen  Zeit  in  unsere  Mitte  zu  versetzen, 
wo  es  eine  unbedingte  Strebsamkeit  gait,  wo  niemand  zu  fordern  dachte  und  nur  zu 
verdienen  bemuht  war.  Ich  habo  mir  die  vielen  Jahre  her  den  Sinn,  das  Gefuhl  jener 
Tage  zu  erhalten  gesucht  und  hoffe  es  soil  mir  fernerhiu  gelingen. 

"3.  Eine  funfte  Sendung  meiner  Werke  liegt  sodaun  bey,  worin  sich  wohl  manches 
unterhaltende,  unterrichtende,  belehrende,  brauchbar  anzuwendende  flnden  wird.  Man 
gestehe  zu  dass  es  auch  Ideal-Utilitarier  gebe,  und  es  sollte  mir  sehr  zur  Krcude  ge- 
reichen,  wenn  ich  mich  darunter  ziihlen  durfte.  Noeh  eine  Lieferung,  dann  ist  vorerst 
das  beabsichtigte  Ganze  vollbracht,  dessen  AbBchluss  zu  erleben  ich  mir  kaum  zu 
hoffeu  erlaubte.  Nachtrage  giebt  es  noch  hinreichend.  Meine  1'apicre  sind  in  guter 
Ordnung. 

"i.  Ein  Exemplar  meiner  Farbenlehre  und  der  dazu  gehorigen  Tafeln  soil  auch 
beygefugt  werden ;  ich  wQnsche,  dass  Sie  den  zweyten,  als  den  historischen  Theil, 
zuerst  lesen.  Si«  schen  da  die  Sache  herankommen,  stocken.  sich  aufkliiren  und 
weider  verdustern.  Sodann  aber  ein  Bestreben  nach  neuem  Lichto  ohue  allgemeinen 
Erfolg.  Alsdann  wurde  die  erste  Hiilfte  des  ersten  Theils,  als  die  didactische  Abthei- 
lung,  eine  allgemeine  Vorstellung  geben  wie  ich  die  Sache  angegrilTen  wunsche.  Frey- 
lich  ist  ohne  Anscbauung  der  Experimente  hier  nicht  durchzukomraen;  wie  Sie  es  mil 


60  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"The  precious  casket,  after  having  been  long  detained  from  the 
Continent  through  the  most  severe  winter,  has  at  last  safely  arrived 
towards  the  middle  of  March.  With  regard  to  its  contents,  I  men- 
tion first  the  inestimable  lock  of  hair,  which  one  would  have  wished 
to  have  seen  together  with  the  dear  head,  but  which  as  here  seen  by 
itself  had  almost  frightened  me.  The  contrast  was  too  striking,  for 
there  was  no  need  for  my  touching  my  skull  in  order  to  know  that 
stubbles  only  would  show  themselves  there.  It  was  not  necessary 
for  me  to  stand  before  the  looking-glass  in  order  to  know  that  the 
long  passage  of  time  had  imparted  to  my  hair  a  discolored  appear- 
ance. The  impossibility  of  the  asked-for  return  troubled  my  heart, 
and  drove  me  to  thoughts  which  one  is  wont  to  put  aside.  In  the 
end,  however,  nothing  remained  to  me  but  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
thought  that  such  a  gift  must  be  gratefully  accepted,  without  the 
hope  of  any  sufficient  return.  It  shall  remain  sacredly  kept,  in  a 
pocket-book  worthy  of  it,  and  only  the  most  loved  shall  ever  bear  it 
company. 

"The  elegant  Scotch  turban  has,  as  I  may  assure  you,  been  the 
occasion  of  much  enjoyment.  For  many  years  we  have  had  visits 
from  the  inhabitants  of  the  three  kingdoms,  who  like  to  stay  with 
us  for  a  time  and  enjoy  good  society.  Though  there  are  fewer 
Scots  among  them,  it  cannot  be  but  that  the  memory  of  one  such 
countryman  should  be  so  vivid  in  some  one  beautiful  heart  here  as 
to  make  it  look  on  that  splendid  national  head-dress,  including  the 
thistle,  as  a  most  desirable  ornament.  The  kind  sender  would,  no 
doubt,  have  been  delighted  to  see  the  most  charming  face  in  the 
world  looking  out  from  under  it.  Ottilie  sends  her  most  grateful 
thanks,  and  will  not  fail,  as  soon  as  our  mourning  is  over,  to  make  a 
glorious  appearance  in  it. 

"Let  me  now  in  return  announce  to  you  an  approaching  de- 
spatch, which  I  hope  to  have  put  together  by  June,  as  the  most 
favorable  time  of  the  year.  You  receive — 

"1st.  The  copy  of  your  translated  'Schiller,'  adorned  with  the 
pictures  of  your  country  home  (by  day  and  night),  accompanied 
by  some  sheets  in  my  own  style,  whereby  I  try  to  gain  a  ready 
entrance  for  the  little  book,  and  more  especially  to  infuse  greater 
life  into  the  intercourse  of  the  two  countries  and  literatures.  I 
hope  that  the  means  which  I  have  employed,  according  to  my 

der  polemischen  Abtheilung  halten  wollen  und  konnen,  wird  sick  alsdann  ergeben.     let 
es  mir  niuglich,  so  lege  besonders  fur  Sie  ein  einleitcndcs  Wort  bey. 

"  5.  Sagen  Sie  mir  etwas  zunachst  wie  Sie  die  deutsche  Literatur  bey  den  Ihrigen 
einleitcn  wollen;  ich  criiffno  Ihnen  gern  meine  Gedanken  uber  die  Folge  der  Epochen. 
Man  braucbt  nicht  uberall  ausfuhrlich  zu  seyn:  gut  aber  ist's  auf  mancb.es  voruber- 
gebende  Interessante  wenigstens  hinzudei'.tou,  um  zu  zeigen  dass  man  es  kennt. 

"  Dr.  Eckermann  macht  mit  meinem  SoUn  eine  Reise  gegen  Suden  und  bcdauert, 
nicbt  wie  er  gewunscht  hattc,  diesmal  beyhGlflich  aeyn  zu  konnen.  Ich  werde  gern, 
wie  obgesagt,  seine  Stelle  vertreten.  Diesen  Somuaer  bleib  ich  zu  Hause  und  sehe  bis 
Michael  Geschafte  genug  vor  mir. 

"  Gedenken  Sie  mit  Ihrer  lieben  Gattinn  unserer  zum  besten  und  empfangen  wieder- 
holten  Uerzlichen  Dank  fur  die  schone  Sendung.  Treu  angehorig, 

'•J.  W.  GOETHE. 

"  Weimar,  den  13.  April,  1830." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  61 

knowledge  of  the  public,  may  not  displease  you,  and  that  the  use 
which  I  have  made  of  some  passages  of  our  correspondence  may 
not  be  taken  as  an  indiscretion.  Though  in  my  earlier  years  I  have 
carefully  abstained  from  such  communications,  it  behooves  a  more 
advanced  age  not  to  despise  even  such  ways.  It  was  really  the 
favorable  reception  of  my  correspondence  with  Schiller  which 
gave  me  the  impulse  and  courage  for  it.  Further,  you  will  find 
added — 

"  2d.  The  four  volumes,  still  wanting,  of  those  letters.  May  they 
serve  as  a  magic  chariot  to  transport  you  into  our  midst  at  that  pe- 
riod, when  we  thought  of  nothing  but  striving,  where  no  one  thought 
of  asking  for  rewards,  but  was  only  anxious  to  deserve  them.  I  have 
tried  for  these  many  years  to  keep  alive  the  sense  and  the  feeling  of 
those  days.  I  hope  I  shall  succeed  in  this  for  the  future  also. 

"  3d.  A  fifth  copy  of  my  works  is  also  there,  in  which  I  hope  may 
be  found  many  things  amusing,  instructive,  improving,  and  fit  for 
use.  Let  it  be  admitted  that  there  exist  ideal  utilitarians  also,  and 
it  would  give  me  much  pleasure  if  I  might  count  myself  among 
them.  Still  one  number,  and  I  shall  have  finished  the  whole  of 
what  I  intended  for  the  present,  and  the  completion  of  which  I 
hardly  allowed  myself  to  hope  I  should  see.  Supplements  there  are 
plenty,  and  my  papers  are  in  good  order. 

"4th.  A  copy  of  my  'Treatise  on  Color,'  with  the  tables  belong- 
ing to  it,  shall  also  be  added ;  and  I  wish  you  to  read  the  second,  as 
the  historical  part,  first.  You  see  how  the  subject  arose,  how  it 
came  to  a  standstill,  how  it  grew  clear,  and  how  it  became  dark 
again;  then  a  striving  after  new  light,  without  a  general  success. 
Afterwards,  the  first  half  of  the  first  part,  being  the  didactic  section, 
would  give  a  general  idea  how  I  wish  to  see  the  subject  taken  up. 
Only  without  seeing  the  experiments,  it  is  impossible  to  get  on  here. 
You  will  then  see  what  you  wish  and  are  able  to  do  with  the  polem- 
ical portion.  If  it  is  possible  I  shall  add  an  introductory  word 
especially  for  you. 

' '  5th.  Please  to  tell  me  first  how  you  wish  to  introduce  German 
literature  among  your  people.  I  shall  then  open  my  thoughts  to 
you  on  the  succession  of  the  epochs.  It  is  not  necessary  to  be  very 
exhaustive  everywhere,  but  it  is  well  to  point  at  least  to  many 
things  which  had  a  passing  interest,  in  order  to  show  that  one 
knows  them.  Dr.  Eckermann  is  making  a  journey  with  my  son, 
southwards,  and  regrets  that  this  time  he  is  not  able  to  be  useful  as 
lie  had  wished.  I  should  gladly,  as  I  said  just  now,  take  his  place. 
I  shall  stay  at  home  this  summer,  and  until  Michaelmas  have  plenty 
of  work  before  me. 

"May  you  and  your  dear  wife  keep  us  in  best  remembrance,  and 
receive  once  more  my  hearty  thanks  for  the  beautiful  presents. 

"  Sincerely  yours,  J.  W.  GOETIIE. 

"Weimar:  April  13, 1830 l> 

Attached  to  the  letter  to  Carlyle  were  a  few  additional  lines  on 
the  request  of  Mrs.  Carlyle  for  a  lock  of  his  hair,  to  which  he  had 
been  unable  to  accede.  The  original  remains  preserved  among  her 


62  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

treasures,  the  only  autograph  of  Goethe  which  I  have  succeeded  in 
finding.1 

"An  incomparable  black  ringlet  demands  a  few  more  words  from 
me.  I  have  to  say  with  real  regret  that  the  desired  exchange  is, 
alas !  impossible.  8hort  and  miscolored,  and  robbed  of  all  its  grace, 
old-age  must  be  content  if  the  inner  man  can  still  throw  out  a  flower 
or  two  when  the  outward  bloom  has  departed.  I  would  gladly  find 
a  substitute,  but  as  yet  I  have  not  succeeded.  My  fairest  greetings 
to  the  admirable  wife.  I  trust  the  box  has  arrived  safe.  G." 

Goethe  had  already  spoken  of  his  inability  to  comply  in  his  first 
letter.  This  little  note  was  perhaps  intended  for  the  Surrogat  which 
he  had  been  vainly  looking  for;  as  an  autograph  which  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle  might  keep  for  herself. 

If  the  box  came  at  the  time  which  he  intended,  the  pleasure  which 
it  must  have  given  was  soon  clouded.  The  journal  alludes  to  the 
death  of  the  most  dearly  loved  of  all  Carlyle's  sisters.  The  Carlyles 
as  a  family  were  passionately  attached  to  each  other.  Margaret 
Carlyle's  apparent  recovery  was  as  delusive  as  her  sister-in-law  had 
feared.  In  the  winter  she  fell  ill  again ;  in  the  spring  she  was  car- 
ried to  Dumfries  in  the  desperate  hope  that  medical  care  might  save 
her.  Carlyle  has  written  nothing  more  affecting  than  the  account 
of  her  end  in  the  "Reminiscences  of  Irving."  A  letter  written  at 
the  time  to  his  brother,  if  wanting  the  mellow  beauty  which  the 
scene  had  assumed  in  his  memory,  is  even  more  impressive  from  the 
greater  fulness  of  detail : 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigenputtock :  June  29, 1830. 

"  It  was  on  Monday  night  when  Alick  took  leave  of  our  sister. 
On  Tuesday,  if  I  remember  rightly,  she  felt  'better,'  but  was  evi- 
dently fast  growing  weaker.  In  the  afternoon  it  was  pretty  evident 
to  every  one  that  she  was  far  gone.  The  doctor,  who  was  unwearied 
in  his  assiduities,  formed  a  worse  opinion  at  every  new  examination. 
All  hope  of  a  complete  cure  had  vanished  some  days  before.  Our 
mother  asked  her  in  the  afternoon  if  she  thought  herself  dying. 
She  answered,  '  I  dinna  ken,  mother,  but  I  never  was  so  sick  in  my 
life. '  To  a  subsequent  question  about  her  hopes  of  a  future  world, 
she  replied  briefly,  but  in  terms  that  were  comfortable  to  her  parents. 
It  was  about  eight  at  night  when  John  Currie  was  despatched  to  go 
and  seek  a  horse  and  proceed  hither;  where,  as  you  already  know, 

1  "  Eine  unvergleichliche  schwarze  Haarlocke  veranlasst  mich  noch  ein  Blattchen 
beyzulegcn,  und  mil  wahrhaftem  Bedauern  zu  bemerken  dnss  die  verlangte  Erwiede- 
rung  leider  unmoglich  ist.  Kurz  und  missfarbig,  alles  Schmuckes  entbehrend,  muss 
das  Alter  sich  begnugen  wenn  sich  dem  Innern  noch  irgend  eine  Bluthe  aufthut,  indem 
die  Aeussere  verschwunden  ist.  Ich  sinne  schon  auf  irgend  ein  Surrogat;  ein  solches 
zu  finden  hat  mir  aber  noch  nicht  glucken  wollea  Meine  schOnstcu  (irusse  der  wur- 
digen  Gattinn. 

"  Moge  das  Kastchen  glucklich  angekommen  seyn.  G." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  63 

he  arrived  about  midnight.  By  this  time  the  sick-room  was  filled 
with  sympathizing  relatives.  The  minister,  Mr.  Clyde,  also  came 
and  feelingly  addressed  her.  She  recognized  every  one,  was  calm, 
clear  as  she  had  ever  been ;  sometimes  spoke  in  whispers,  directing 
little  services  te  be  done  to  her;  once  asked  where  Mary  was,  who 
had  gone  out  for  a  moment.  Twice  she  asked  for  the  '  drops,'  I  be- 
lieve that  '  mixture '  I  spoke  of.  The  first  time,  our  mother,  who 
now  cared  chiefly  for  her  soul's  weal,  and  that  sense  and  recollection 
might  be  given  her  in  that  stern  hour,  answered  dissuasively,  but 
said  if  she  asked  for  them  a  second  time  they  should  be  given  her. 
Some  hours  before,  our  mother  had  begged  her  forgiveness  if  she 
had  ever  done  her  anything  wrong;  to  which  the  dying  one  an- 
swered, '  Oh  no,  no,  mother,  never,  never,'  earnestly,  yet  quietly,  and 
without  tears.  About  a  quarter-past  ten  she  asked  again  for  the 
drink  (or  drops,  which  were  taken  in  water),  and  took  the  glass 
which  Mary  also  held  in  her  own  hand.  She  whispered  to  Mary, 
'  Pour  up,'  swallowed  about  half  the  liquid,  threw  her  head  on  the 
pillow,  looking  out  with  her  usual  look ;  but  her  eyes  quickly  grew 
bright  and  intense,  the  breath  broke  into  long  sighs,  and  in  about 
two  minutes  a  slight  quiver  in  the  under-lip  gave  token  that  the 
fight  was  fought  and  the  wearied  spirit  at  its  goal.  I  saw  her  in  the 
winding-sheet  about  six  o'clock,  beautiful  in  death,  and  kissed  her 
pale  brow,  not  without  warm  tears  which  I  could  not  check.  About 
mid-day,  when  she  was  laid  iu  the  coffin,  I  saw  her  face  once  more 
for  the  last  time. 

"Our  mother  behaved  in  what  I  must  call  an  heroic  manner. 
Seeing  that  the  hour  was  now  come,  she  cast  herself  and  her  child 
on  God's  hand,  and  endeavored  heartily  to  say,  '  His  will  be  done.' 
Since  then  she  has  been  calmer  than  any  of  us  could  have  hoped — 
almost  the  calmest  of  us.  No  doubt  the  arrow  still  sticks  in  her 
heart,  and  natural  sorrow  must  have  its  course ;  but  I  trust  she  seeks 
and  finds  the  only  true  balm,  howsoever  named,  by  which  man's 
woe  can  be  healed  and  made  blessed  to  him. 

"Thus,  dear  brother,  has  our  eldest  and  best  sister  been  taken 
from  us,  mercifully,  as  you  said,  though  sorrowfully,  having  been 
spared  much  suffering,  and  carried  in  clear  possession  of  her  sense 
and  steadfastness  through  that  last  solemn  trial.  We  all  wept  sore 
for  her  as  you  have  done  and  now  do,  but  will  endeavor  to  weep  no 
more.  I  have  often  thought  she  had  attained  all  in  life  that  life 
could  give  her — a  just,  true,  meekly  invincible,  completed  character, 
which  I  and  so  many  others,  by  far  more  ambitious  paths,  seek  for 
in  vain.  She  was  in  some  points,  I  may  say  deliberately,  superior 
to  any  woman  I  have  ever  seen.  Her  simple  clearness  of  head  and 
heart,  her  perfect  fairness,  and  quiet,  unpretending,  brief  decisive- 
ness in  thought,  word,  and  act  (for  in  all  these  she  was  remarkable) 
made  up  so  true  and  brave  a  spirit  as,  in  that  unaffected  guise,  we 
shall  hardly  look  upon  again.  She  might  have  been  wife  to  a  Scot- 
tish martyr,  and  spoken  stern  truths  to  the  ear  of  tyrants,  had  she 
been  called  to  that  work.  As  it  is,  she  sleeps  in  a  pure  grave,  and 
our  peasant  maiden  to  us  who  knew  her  is  more  than  a  king's 
daughter.  Let  us  forever  remember  her  and  love  her,  but  cease 
from  henceforth  to  mourn  for  her.  She  was  mercifully  dealt  with — 


64  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

called  away  when  her  heart,  if  not  unwounded,  wa's  yet  unseared 
and  fresh,  amidst  pain  and  heaviness  it  is  true,  but  not  in  any  agony 
or  without  some  peaceful  train  of  hope  enlightening  her  to  the  end. 
The  little  current  of  her  existence  flowed  onward  like  a  Scottish 
brook  through  green  simple  fields.  Neither  was  it  -caught  into  the 
great  ocean  over  chasms  and  grim  cataracts, but  gently  and  as  among 
thick  clouds  whereon  hovered  a  rainbow. 

"I  might  tell  you  something  of  the  funeral  arrangements,  and  how 
the  loss  has  left  the  rest  of  us.  Early  on  Tuesday  our  mother  and 
Mary  set  off  for  Scotsbrig  in  one  of  Alick's  carts  which  happened  to 
be  there.  A  coffin  was  speedily  got  ready,  with  burial  litter,  etc. ; 
and  it  was  agreed  that  Alick  and  I  should  attend  the  body  down  to 
Scotsbrig  next  day,  where  it  was  to  lie  till  Saturday,  the  day  of  the 
funeral.  All  Wednesday  these  things  kept  him  and  me  incessantly 
busy ;  the  poor  Alick  was  sick  to  the  heart,  and  cried  more  that  day 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him  do  in  his  life.  At  night  I  had  to  return 
hither  and  seek  Jenny.  I  was  the  messenger  of  heavy  and  unex- 
pected tidings.  Jane,  too,  insisted  on  going  with  us ;  so  next  morn- 
ing (Thursday)  we  set  out  hence,  Jenny  and  I  in  a  gig,  Jane  riding 
behind  us.  At  Dumfries,  where  Alick  had  remained  to  watch  all 
night,  we  found  Jacob  with  a  hearse.  About  two  o'clock  we  moved 
off,  the  gig  close  following  the  hearse,  Jane  and  Alick  riding  behind 
us.  We  reached  Scotsbrig  about  six.  Poor  Robert  Crow  was 
dreadfully  affected.  He  waked  every  night,  spoke  earnestly  and 
largely  on  the  subject  of  the  deceased,  and  by  his  honesty  and  sen- 
sibility and  pure  sincere  religious  bearing  endeared  himself  to  every 
one.  On  Saturday  about  half -past  one  the  procession  moved  away. 
Our  mother  stood  like  a  priestess  in  the  door,  tearless  when  all  were 
weeping.  Our  father  and  Alick  went  in  the  gig.  The  former,  ill 
in  health,  looked  resolute,  austere,  and  to  trivial  condolers  and  ad- 
visers almost  indignant.  The  coffin  was  lowered  into  a  very  deep 
grave  on  the  east  side  of  our  headstone  in  the  Ecclefechan  church- 
yard, and  the  mourners,  a  numerous  company,  separated;  W. 
Graham  and  a  few  others  accompanying  us  home  to  that  stupid 
horrid  ceremony,  a  funeral  tea,  which  in  our  case  was  speedily 
transacted. 

"Yesterday  morning  we  set  out  on  our  return.  It  had  been  set- 
tled that  Mary  was  to  stay  yonder  for  a  fortnight  or  ten  days,  our 
mother  and  Jenny  to  come  hither.  I  drove  the  former  in  the  gig; 
Jenny  came  in  a  cart  with  Bretton.  We  settled  various  accounts, 
etc.,  at  Dumfries,  and  arrived  here  about  eleven,  all  well.  Mother 
had  a  good  sleep,  and  is  pretty  well  in  health.  She  talked  of  re- 
turning to  the  Sacrament.  Our  father  was  complaining  much, 
and  evidently  suffering  somewhat  severely.  His  appetite  is  bad. 
He  has  a  cold,  coughs  a  little,  and  is  in  bad  spirits  when  left  to  him- 
self. I  bought  him  some  paregoric,  but  he  was  breathless,  dispirited, 
and  could  not  eat.  We  hope  the  good  weather  would  mend  him 
would  it  come.  The  rest  of  us  are  well.  God  bless  you,  dear  brother. 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

"We  are  all  sad  and  dull  [he  wrote  a  fortnight  later]  about  her 
that  is  laid  in  the  earth.  I  dream  of  her  almost  nightly,  and  feel 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  65 

not  indeed  sorrow,  for  what  is  life  but  a  continual  dying  ?  Yet  a 
strange  obstruction  and  haunting  remembrance.  Let  us  banish  all 
this,  for  it  is  profitless  and  foolish. 

Thy  quiet  goodness,  spirit  pure  and  brave, 

What  boots  it  now  with  tears  to  tell; 
The  path  to  rest  lies  through  the  grave: 

L&ved  sister,  take  our  long  farewelL 

We  shall  meet  again,  too,  if  God  will.  If  he  will  not,  then  better 
we  should  not  meet." 

From  the  Journal  I  add  a  few  more  words: 

' '  On  the  22d  of  June  my  sister  Margaret  died  at  Dumfries,  whith- 
er she  had  been  removed  exactly  a  week  before  for  medical  help. 
It  was  a  Thursday  night,  about  ten  minutes  past  ten.  Alick  and  I 
were  roused  by  express  about  midnight,  and  we  arrived  there  about 
four.  That  solstice  night,  with  its  singing  birds  and  sad  thoughts, 
I  shall  never  forget.  She  was  interred  next  Saturday  at  Ecclefechan. 
I  reckoned  her  the  best  of  all  my  sisters — in  some  respects,  the  best 
woman  I  had  ever  seen. 

Whom  bring  ye  to  the  still  dwelling? 

'Tis  a  tired  playmate  whom  we  bring  you ; 

Let  her  rest  in  your  still  dwelling 

Till  the  songs  of  her  heavenly  sisters  awaken  her. 

And  so  let  me  betake  myself  again,  with  what  energy  I  can,  to  the 
commencement  of  my  task.  Work  is  for  the  living,  rest  is  for  the 
dead." 

Margaret  Carlyle  sleeps  in  Ecclefechan  churchyard.  Her  father 
followed  soon,  and  was  laid  beside  her.  Then  after  him,  but  not  for 
many  years,  the  pious,  tender,  original,  beautiful  -  minded  mother. 
John  Carlyle  was  the  next-of  their  children  who  rejoined  them,  and 
next  he  of  whom  I  am  now  writing.  The  world  and  the  world's 
business  scatter  families  to  the  four  winds,  but  they  collect  again  in 
death.  Alick  lies  far  off  in  a  Canadian  resting-place ;  but  in  his  last 
illness,  when  the  memory  wanders,  he  too  had  travelled  in  spirit  back 
to  Annandale  and  the  old  days  when  his  brother  was  at  college,  and, 
with  the  films  of  the  last  struggle  closing  over  his  eyes,  he  asked  anx- 
iously if  ' '  Tom  was  come  back  from  Edinburgh. " 

The  loss  of  this  sister  weighed  heavily  on  Carlyle's  spirits,  and  the 
disappointment  about  his  book  fretted  him  on  the  side  to  which  he 
might  naturally  have  turned  to  seek  relief  in  work.  Goethe's  steady 
encouragement  was,  of  course,  inspiriting,  but  it  brought  no  grist  to 
the  mill,  and  the  problem  of  how  he  was  to  live  was  becoming  ex- 
tremely serious.  Conscious  though  he  was  of  exceptional  powers, 
which  the  most  grudging  of  his  critics  could  not  refuse  to  acknowl- 
edge, he  was  discovering  to  his  cost  that  they  were  not  marketable. 
He  could  not  throw  his  thoughts  into  a  shape  for  which  the  Sosii  of 
the  day  would  give  him  money.  He  had  tried  poetry,  but  his  verse 
was  cramped  and  unmelodious.  He  had  tried  to  write  stories,  but 


66  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

his  convictions  were  too  intense  for  fiction.  The  "  dreadful  earnest- 
ness "  of  which  Jeffrey  complained  was  again  in  his  way,  and  he 
could  have  as  little  written  an  entertaining  novel  as  St.  Paul  or  St. 
John.  His  entire  faculty  —  intellect  and  imagination  alike  —  was 
directed  upon  the  sternest  problems  of  human  life.  It  was  not  pos- 
sible for  him,  like  his  friend  at  Craigcrook,  to  take  up  with  the  first 
creed  that  came  to  hand  and  make  the  best  of  it.  He  required 
something  which  he  could  really  believe.  Thus  his  thoughts  re- 
fused to  move  in  any  common  groove.  He  had  himself  to  form  the 
taste  by  which  he  could  be  appreciated,  and  when  he  spoke  his 
words  provoked  the  same  antagonism  which  every  original  thinker 
is  inevitably  condemned  to  encounter — antagonism  first  in  the  form 
of  wonder,  and,  when  the  wonder  ceased,  of  irritation  and  angry  en- 
mity. He  taught  like  one  that  had  authority — a  tone  which  men 
naturally  resent,  and  must  resent,  till  the  teacher  has  made  his  pre- 
tensions good.  Every  element  was  absent  from  his  writing  which 
would  command  popularity,  the  quality  to  which  booksellers  and 
review  editors  are  obliged  to  look  if  they  would  live  themselves. 
Carlyle's  articles  were  magnetic  enough,  but  with  the  magnetism 
which  repelled,  not  which  attracted.  His  faith  in  himself  and  in  his 
own  purposes  never  wavered;  but  it  was  becoming  a  subject  of  seri- 
ous doubt  to  him  whether  he  could  make  a  living,  even  the  humblest, 
by  literature.  The  fair  promises  of  the  last  year  at  Comely  Bank 
had  clouded  over;  instead  of  invitations  to  write,  he  was  receiving 
cold  answers  to  his  own  proposals.  Editors,  who  had  perhaps  re- 
sented his  haughty  style,  were  making  him  ' '  feel  the  difference, " 
neglecting  to  pay  him  even  for  the  articles  which  had  been  accepted 
and  put  in  type.  His  brother  John,  finding  also  patients  who  would 
pay  slow  in  sending  for  him,  and  not  willing  to  give  his  services 
gratuitously,  was  thinking  that  he  too  would  become  a  man  of  let- 
ters, and  earn  his  bread  by  writing  for  magazines.  Carlyle  warned 
him  off  so  dangerous  an  enterprise  with  the  most  impressive  ear- 
nestness. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Craigenputtock:  Augusts,  1830. 

"  I  sympathize  in  your  reluctance  to  enter  on  the  practice  of  med- 
icine, or  indeed  of  any  professional  duty,  well  understanding  the 
difficulties  that  lie  at  the  porch  of  all  and  threaten  the  solitary  ad- 
venturer. Neither  can  I  be  surprised  at  your  hankering  after  a  lit- 
erary life,  so  congenial  as  I  have  often  heard  you  hint  it  would  be  to 
your  tastes.  Nevertheless,  it  would  greatly  astonish  me  if,  beyond 
mere  preliminary  reveries,  these  feelings  produced  any  influence  on 
your  conduct.  The  voice  of  all  experience  seems  to  be  in  favor  of  a 
profession.  You  sail  there  as  under  convoy  in  the  middle  of  a  fleet, 
and  have  a  thousandfold  chance  of  reaching  port.  Neither  is  it  Hap- 
py Islands  and  halcyon  seas  alone  that  you  miss,  for  literature  is 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  67 

thickly  strewed  with  cold  Russian  Nova  Zemblas,  where  you  shiver 
and  despair  in  loneliness;  nay,  often,  as  in  the  case  of  this  '  Literary 
History  of  Germany, '  you  anchor  on  some  slumbering  whale,  and  it 
ducks  under  and  leaves  you  spinning  in  the  eddies.  To  my  mind, 
nothing  justifies  me  for  having  adopted  the  trade  of  literature  except 
the  remembrance  that  I  had  no  other  but  these  two — that  of  a  school- 
master or  that  of  a  priest :  in  the  one  case  with  the  fair  prospect  of 
speedy  maceration  and  starvation;  in  the  other  of  perjury,  which  is 
infinitely  worse.  As  it  is,  I  look  confidently  forward  to  a  life  of 
poverty,  toil,  and  dispiritment  so  long  as  I  remain  on  this  earth,  and 
hope  only  that  God  will  grant  me  patience  and  strength  to  struggle 
onwards  through  the  midst  of  it,  working  out  his  will  as  I  best  can 
in  this  lonely  clay-pit  where  I  am  set  to  dig.  The  pitifullest  of  all 
resources  is  complaining,  which  accordingly  I  strive  not  to  practise: 
only  let  these  things  be  known  for  my  brother's  warning,  that  he  may 
order  his  life  better  than  I  could  do  mine. 

"  For  the  rest,  I  pretend  not  to  thwart  your  own  judgment,  which 
ought  to  be  mature  enough  for  much  deeper  considerations;  neither 
would  I  check  these  overflowings  of  discouragement,  poured  as  they 
naturally  should  be  into  a  brother's  ear;  but,  after  all  that  is  come 
and  gone,  I  expect  to  learn  that  your  medical  talent,  sought  over  all 
Europe,  and  indisputably  the  most  honorable  a  man  can  have,  is  no 
longer  to  be  hidden  in  a  napkin,  still  less  to  be  thrown  away  into 
the  lumber-room;  but  to  come  forth  into  the  light  of  day  for  your 
own  profit  and  that  of  your  fellow-men. 

' '  Tell  me,  therefore,  dear  Jack,  that  you  are  in  your  own  lodging 
resolute,  compacted,  girt  for  the  fight,  at  least  endeavoring  to  do 
your  true  duty.  Now,  as  ever,  I  have  predicted  that  success  was 
certain  for  you;  my  sole  fear  is  that  such  wavering  and  waiting  at 
the  pool  may  in  the  end  settle  into  a  habit  of  fluctuation  and  irresolu- 
tion far  enough  from  your  natural  character;  a  fear  which,  of  course, 
every  new  week  spent  in  drifting  to  and  fro  tends  to  strengthen. 

' '  Fear  nothing,  Jack.  Men  are  but  poor  spindle-shanked  whiffling 
wonners,  when  you  clutch  them  through  the  mass  of  drapery  they 
wear.  To  throw  plenty  of  them  over  the  house-ridge  were  no  such 
feat  for  a  right  fellow.  Neither  is  their  favor,  their  envy,  their  ad- 
miration, or  anything  else  the  poor  devils  can  give  or  withhold,  our 
life  or  our  death.  Nay,  the  worst  we  and  they  fear  is  but  a  bugbear, 
a  hollow  shadow,  which,  if  you  grasp  it  and  smite  it,  dissolves  into  air. 
March  boldly  up  to  it  and  to  them;  strong  and  still  like  the  stars, 
'  Ohne  Hast,  doch  ohne  liast. ' '  There  is  a  soul  in  some  men  yet,  even 
yet,  and  God's  sky  is  above  us,  and  God's  commandment  is  in  us — 

1  Und  wcnn  die  Welt  voll  Teufel  war ', 

Und  wollt'  uns  gar  yerschlingen, 
So  furrhten  wir  uns  nicht  so  sehr: 
Es  muss  uns  doch  gelingen. '  a 

Up  and  be  doing.  Be  my  brother  and  life  companion,  not  in  word 
and  feeling  only,  but  in  deepest  deed ! 

"  With  regard  to  that  manuscript  of  the  '  Literary  History  of  Ger- 
many,'get  it  out  of 's  claws  if  you  have  not,  as  I  trust,  already 

i  Without  haste,  yet  without  rest.  a  From  Luther's  Hymn. 


68  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

done  so.  To  which  now  add  an  article  on  Schiller  that  Fraser  has, 
that  he  talked  of  giving  to  some  magazine  or  other,  but  that  I  de- 
sire to  have  the  privilege  of  giving  of  retaining  myself,  being 
minded,  as  I  said  already,  to  have  no  more  business  transactions 
with  that  gentleman.  Get  the  two  MSS.  therefore,  dear  Jack,  and 
wrap  them  up  tightly  till  I  send  for  them.  The  Schiller  by-and-by 
I  intend  for  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review. 1  About  the  history  I 
wrote  to  Gleig, 2  Colburn's  editor  of  some'  Library  of  General  Knowl- 
edge,' three  weeks  ago,  and  again  to-day,  having  received  no  an- 
swer. Fraser  offered  to  negotiate  for  me-4here  in  a  letter  he  sent 
me  last  week,  but  he  need  not  mingle  further  in  the  matter,  I  think. 
If  I  do  not  hear  in  a  week,  I  shall  decide  for  myself,  and  cut  Gleig 
as  I  have  done  other  editors,  and  try  some  different  method  of  real- 
izing a  pound  or  two.  Get  you  the  MSS.  in  the  first  place.  Tait, 
to  whom  I  wrote,  declines.  I  am  now  got  as  far  as  Luther;  and  if 
I  can  get  no  bookseller,  I  will  stop  short  there,  and  for  the  present 
slit  it  up  into  review  articles,  and  publish  it  that  way. 3  Magazine 
Fraser  has  never  offered  me  a  doit  for  Richter's  critique,  and  not 
even  printed  it  at  all.  If  you  can  get  any  cash  from  the  fellow,  it 
will  come  in  fine  stead  just  now,  when  I  have  above  200£.  worth  of 
writing  returned  on  my  hands,  and  no  Fortunatus's  hat  close  by. 
Adieu,  Jack.  We  are  poor  men,  but  nothing  worse. 

"  Your  brother,  T.  CARLYLE." 

To  a  proud,  gifted  man  it  was  no  pleasant  thing  to  chaffer  with 
publishers  and  dun  for  payments,  which  were  withheld  perhaps  to 
bend  the  spirit  of  their  too  independent  contributor.  Carlyle  bore 
his  humiliation  better  than  might  have  been  expected.  Indeed,  as  a 
rule,  all  serious  trials  he  endured  as  nobly  as  man  could  do.  When 
his  temper  failed  it  was  when  some  metaphorical  gnat  was  buzzing 
in  his  ear.  John  Carlyle  succeeded  in  extorting  the  few  pounds 
that  were  owing  from  Fraser. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Craigenputtock:  August  21, 1830. 

"  In  returning  from  Scotsbrig  this  day  week,  whither  I  had  gone 
on  the  Thursday  before,  I  found  your  letter  lying  safe  for  me  at 
Dumfries,  and  in  spite  of  its  valuable  enclosure  only  bearing  single 
postage.  That  last  circumstance  was  an  error  on  the  part  of  his 
Majesty  which  it  did  not  strike  me  in  the  least  to  rectify.  We  hear 
that  Providence  is  a  rich  provider,  and  truly  in  my  case  I  may 
thankfully  say  so.  Many  are  the  times  when  some  seasonable  sup- 
ply in  time  of  need  has  arrived  when  it  was  not  in  the  least  looked 

i  It  was,  however,  published  after  all  in  Eraser's  Magazine,  and  stands  now  in  the 
third  volume  of  the  "Miscellanies." 

a  Afterwards  the  well-known  Chaplain-general. 

3  Partially  accomplished  in  the  following  years,  after  many  difficulties.  The  "  Xibe- 
lnngen  Lied  "  appeared  in  the  Westminster  Review,  and  "  Karly  German  Literature : '  in 
the  Foreign  Quarterly.  These  essays,  which  are  still  the  best  upon  their  special  subjects 
which  exist  in  the  English  language,  are  specimens  of  the  book  which  could  dud  no 
publisher.  They  too  arc  in  the  third  volume  of  the  "  Miscellanies. " 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  69 

for.  I  was  not  by  any  means  quite  out  of  money  when  your  bank 
paper  came  to  hand;  but  I  saw  clearly  the  likelihood,  or  rather 
the  necessity,  of  such  an  event,  which  now  by  this  '  seasonable 
interposition  '  is  put  off  to  a  safer  distance.  Pity  that  poor  fellows 
should  hang  so  much  on  cash!  But  it  is  the  general  lot;  and 
whether  it  be  ten  pounds  or  ten  thousand  that  would  relieve  us,  the 
case  is  all  the  same,  and  the  tie  that  binds  us  equally  mean.  If  I 
had  money  to  carry  me  up  and  down  the  world  in  search  of  good 
men  and  fellow-laborers  with  whom  to  hold  communion,  and  heat 
myself  into  clearer  activity,  I  should  think  myself  happier;  but  in 
the  meantime  I  have  myself  here  for  better  or  worse;  and  who 
knows  but  my  imprisonment  in  these  moors,  sulkily  as  I  may  some- 
times take  it,  is  really  for  my  good?  If  I  have  any  right  strength  it 
will.  If  not,  then  what  is  the  matter  whether  I  sink  or  swim?  Oh 
that  I  had  but  a  little  real  wisdom!  then  would  all  things  work 
beautifully  together  for  the  best  ends.  Meanwhile  the  Dunscore 
Patmos  is  simply  the  place  where  of  all  others  in  the  known  world 
I  can  live  cheapest,  which  in  the  case  of  a  man  living  by  literature, 
with  little  salable  talent,  and  who  would  very  fain  not  prove  a  liar 
and  a  scoundrel,  this  is  a  momentous  point.  So  let  us  abide  here 
and  work,  or  at  least  rest  and  be  thankful. 

"I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  if  this  'Literary  History'  is  not 
finished,  it  is  now  at  least  concluded.  On  Tuesday  last  I  had  a  very 

short  note  from  Captain,  or  rather  Curate  ,  which  had  been 

twice  requested  from  him,  stating  that  he  found  '  the  publishers 
averse,'  chiefly  on  the  score  of  terms  (which  terms  I  had  never  hinted 
at),  and  indicating  that  he  himself  was  averse  chiefly  on  the  score  of 
size,  as  one  volume  would  have  suited  the  Library  better.  Further, 
it  appeared  from  this  note  that  the  Reverend  Editor  was,  in  all  hu- 
man probability,  a  cold-hearted,  shabbyish,  dandy  parson  and  lieu- 
tenant, who,  being  disappointed  that  I  would  not  work  for  him  at 
low  wages  and  any  kind  of  work,  wished  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  me,  in  which  implied  wish  I  could  not  but  heartily,  though 
sorrowf ully,  coincide ;  so  that  nothing  remains  for  you  but  to  send 
me  back  that  ill-starred  MS.  as  soon  as  you  can,  that  I  may  consign 
it  to  its  ultimate  distinction. 

"Assure  Fraser  that  I  feel  no  shadow  of  spleen  against  him,  but  a 
true  sentiment  of  friendship  and  regret  at  all  the  trouble  he  has  had. 
For  your  satisfaction,  understand  1  am  positively  glad  this  intolera- 
ble business  is  done;  nay,  glad  that  it  is  done  in  this  way  rather  than 
another.  What  part  of  the  MS.  I  can  split  into  review  articles  I 
will  serve  in  that  way;  for  the  present  leaving  the  whole  narrative 
complete  down  to  Luther,  to  serve  as  an  Introduction  to  my  various 
essays  on  German  literature,  in  the  compass  of  which  essays  (had  I 
one  or  two  more ;  for  example,  Luther,  Lessing,  Herder)  there  already 
lies  the  best  History  of  German  Literature  that  I  can  easily  write; 
and  so  were  there  a  flourishing  prophetic  and  circumspective  essay 
appended  by  way  of  conclusion,  we  had  a  very  fair  Gescfrichte,  or  at 
least  a  zur  Geschichte,  all  lying  cut  and  dry,  which  can  be  published 
at  any  time  if  it  is  wanted ;  if  not  in  my  lifetime,  then  in  some  other, 
till  which  consummation  it  will  lie  here  eating  no  bread.  And  so 
for  all  things,  my  brother,  let  us  be  thankful.  I  will  work  no  more 


70  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

in  'Libraries,'  or,  if  I  can  help  it,  in  compilation.  If  my  writing 
cannot  be  sold,  it  shall  at  least  have  been  written  out  of  my  own 
heart.  Also  henceforth  I  will  endeavor  to  be  my  own  editor,  hav- 
ing now  arrived  at  the  years  for  it.  Nay,  in  the  Devil's  name,  have 
I  not  a  kail  garden  here  that  will  grow  potatoes  and  onions?  The 
highest  of  men  have  often  not  had  so  much. 

"Too  much  of  your  sheet  is  already  filled  with  my  own  concerns. 
At  Scotsbrig,  as  I  must  tell  you,  matters  wore  a  more  tolerable  aspect 
than  I  anticipated.  Our  mother  was  as  well  as  usual,  rather  better, 
having  been  out  at  haymaking.  Our  father  was  still  weak  and 
somewhat  dispirited;  but  as  far  as  I  could  see  he  had  no  disease 
working  on  him,  save  loss  of  appetite  and  the  general  feebleness  be- 
longing to  those  years  he  has  now  arrived  at.  He  sits  most  of  the 
day,  reading  miscellaneously  enough,  wanders  sometimes  among  the 
laborers,  or  even  does  little  jobs  himself.  He  seemed  much  quieter 
and  better-tempered. 

"  Alick  has  written  that  he  cannot  keep  this  farm  longer  than 
Whitsunday,  finding  it  a  ruinous  concern.  Let  Mrs.  Welsh  arrange 
the  rest  herself.  Alick  knows  not  well  what  he  is  to  turn  him  to. 
Other  farms  might  be  had,  but  it  is  a  ticklish  business  taking  farms 
at  present.  Poor  outlook  there,  nothing  but  loss  and  embarrass- 
ment. I  often  calculate  that  the  land  is  all  let  some  thirty  per  cent. 
too  high ;  and  that  before  it  can  be  reduced  the  whole  existing  race 
of  farmers  must  be  ruined:  that  is,  the  whole  agricultural  tools 
(which  are  capital)  broken  in  pieces  and  burnt  in  the  landlords'  fire, 
to  warm  his  pointers  with. 

"  Ach  Gott!  The  time  is  sick  and  out  of  joint.  The  perversities 
and  mismanagements,  moral  and  physical,  of  this  best-of-all  stage 
of  society  are  rising  to  a  head ;  and  one  day,  see  it  who  may,  the 
whole  concern  will  be  blown  up  to  Heaven,  and  fall  thence  to  Tar- 
tarus, and  a  new  and  fairer  era  will  rise  in  its  room.  Since  the  time 
of  Nero  and  Jesus  Christ  there  is  no  record  of  such  embarrassments 
and  crying,  or,  what  is  still  worse,  silent,  abominations.  But  the 
day,  as  we  said,  will  come;  for  God  is  still  in  heaven,  whether 
Henry  Brougham  and  Jeremiah  Bentham  know  it  or  not;  and  the 
gig,  and  gigmania,  *  must  rot  or  start  into  thousand  shivers,  and 
bury  itself  in  the  ditch,  that  Man  may  have  clean  roadway  towards 
the  goal  whither  through  all  ages  he  is  tending.  Fiat,  fiat! 

"Make  my  kindest  compliments  to  my  old  friend  your  landlord,5 
whose  like,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  I  have  not  yet  looked  upon. 
Tell  him  that  none  more  honestly  desires  his  welfare,  Oh  were  I 
but  joined  to  such  a  man!  Would  the  Scotch  Kirk  but  expel  him, 
and  his  own  better  genius  lead  him  far  away  from  all  Apocalypses, 
and  prophetic  and  theologic  chimeras,  utterly  unworthy  of  such  a 
head,  to  see  the  world  as  it  here  lies  visible,  and  is,  that  we  might 
fight  together  for  God's  true  cause  even  to  the  death!  With  one  such 
man  I  feel  as  if  I  could  defy  the  earth.  But  patience !  patience !  I 
shall  find  one,  perhaps.  At  all  events,  courage!  courage!  What 

1  Allusion  to  Thurtcll's  trial:  "  I  always  thought  him  a  respectable  man."     "What 
do  you  mean  by  respectable?"     "  He  kept  a  gig." 
a  Irving,  who  had  taken  John  Carlyle  to  live  with  him. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  71 

have  we  to  look  for  but  toil  and  trouble?    What  drivellers  are  we  to 
whimper  when  it  comes,  and  not  front  it,  and  triumph  over  it! 
' '  God  forever  bless  you,  dear  brother. 

"  Heartily  yours,  T.  CARLYLE." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A.D.    1830.      JET.    35. 

TRIALS  had  fallen  sharply  on  Carlyle,  entirely,  as  Jeffrey  had  said, 
through  his  own  generosity.  He  had  advanced  240?.  in  the  educa- 
tion and  support  of  his  brother  John.  He  had  found  the  capital  to 
stock  the  farm  at  Craigenputtock,  and  his  brother  Alick  thus  had 
received  from  him  half  as  much  more  —  small  sums,  as  rich  men 
estimate  such  matters,  but  wrung  out  by  Carlyle  as  from  the  rock  by 
desperate  labor,  and  spared  out  of  his  own  and  his  wife's  necessities. 
John  (perhaps  ultimately  Alexander,  but  of  this  I  am  not  sure) 
honorably  repaid  his  share  of  this  debt  hi  the  better  days  which 
were  coming  to  him,  many  years  before  fortune  looked  more  kindly 
on  Carlyle  himself.  But  as  yet  John  Carlyle  was  struggling  almost 
penniless  in  London.  Alick's  farming  at  Craigenputtock,  which. 
Carlyle  had  once  rashly  thought  of  undertaking  for  himself,  had 
proved  a  disastrous  failure,  and  was  now  to  be  abandoned.1  The 
pleasant  family  party  there  had  to  be  broken  up,  and  his  brother  was 
to  lose  the  companionship  which  softened  the  dreariness  of  his  soli- 
tude. Alick  Carlyle  had  the  family  gift  of  humor.  His  letters 
show  that  had  he  been  educated  he  too  might  have  grown  into 
something  remarkable.  Alick  could  laugh  with  all  his  heart,  and 
make  others  laugh.  His  departure  changed  the  character  of  the 
whole  scene.  Carlyle  himself  grew  discontented.  An  impatient 
Radicalism  rings  through  his  remarks  on  the  things  which  were  go- 
ing on  round  him.  The  political  world  was  shaken  by  the  three 
glorious  days  in  Paris.  England,  following  the  example,  was  agi- 
tating for  Reform,  and  a  universal  and  increasing  distress  flung  its 
ominous  shadow  over  the  whole  working  community.  Reports  of 
it  all,  leaking  in  through  chance  visitors,  local  newspapers,  or  letters 
of  friends,  combined  with  his  own  and  his  brother's  indifferent  and 

1  Carlyle,  however,  had  brought  his  genius  to  bear  on  the  cultivation  in  a  single  in- 
stance, though  he  could  not  save  the  farm.  A  field  at  Craigenputtock  was  made  use- 
less by  a  crop  of  nettles  which  covered  the  whole  of  it.  They  had  been  mowed  down 
many  times,  but  only  grew  the  thicker;  and  to  root  them  out  would  have  been  a  seri- 
ous expense.  It  struck  Carlyle  that  all  plants  were  exhausted  by  the  effort  of  flower- 
ing and  seeding,  and  if  an  injury  would  ever  prove  mortal  to  the  nettle  it  would  be  at 
that  particular  crisis.  He  watched  the  field  till  the  seed  was  almost  ripe,  then  mowed 
it  once  more,  and  with  complete  success.  So  at  least  he  described  the  experiment  to 
me.  Gardeners  will  know  if  the  success  was  accidental  or  was  due  to  some  other 
cause. 


73  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

almost  hopeless  prospects,  tended  too  naturally  to  encourage  his 
gloomy  tendencies.  Ever  on  the  watch  to  be  of  use  to  him,  the 
warm-hearted  Jeffrey  was  again  at  hand  to  seduce  him  into  con- 
formity with  the  dominant  Liberal  ways  of  thinking;  that  in  the 
approaching  storm  he  might  at  least  open  a  road  for  himself  to  his 
own  personal  advancement.  In  August,  Jeffrey  pressed  his  two 
friends  in  his  most  winning  language  to  visit  him  at  Craigcrook. 
Carlyle,  he  said,  was  doing  nothing,  and  could  employ  himself  no 
better  than  to  come  down  with  his  blooming  Eve  out  of  his  "blasted 
Paradise, "  and  seek  shelter  in  the  lower  world.  To  Mrs.  Carlyle 
he  promised  roses  and  a  blue  sea,  and  broad  shadows  stretching 
over  the  fields.  He  said  that  he  felt  as  if  destined  to  do  them 
real  service,  and  could  now  succeed  at  last.  Carlyle  would 
not  be  persuaded;  so,  in  September,  the  Jeffreys  came  again, 
unlocked  for,  to  Craigenputtock.  Carlyle  was  with  his  family  at 
Scotsbrig. 

"Returning  [he  said,  Sept.  18, 1830]  late  in  the  evening,  from  a 
long  ride,  I  found  an  express  from  Dumfries  that  the  Jeffreys  would 
be  all  at  Craigenputtock  that  night.  Of  the  riding  and  running,  the 
scouring  and  scraping,  and  Caleb  Balderstone  arranging  my  unfort- 
unate but  shifty  and  invincible  Goody  must  have  had,  I  say  noth- 
ing. Enough,  she  is  the  cleverest  of  housewives,  and  might  put 
innumerable  blues  to  shame.  I  set  out  next  morning,  and,  on  arriv- 
ing here,  actually  found  the  Dean  of  the  Faculty,  with  his  adherents, 
sitting  comfortably  in  a  house  swept  and  garnished,  awaiting  my 
arrival.  Of  the  shine  itself  I  have  room  for  no  description.  It  all 
went  prosperously  on,  and  yesterday  morning  they  set  out  home- 
wards, reducing  us  instantly  to  our  own  more  commodious  farthing 
rushlight,  which  is  our  usual  illumination.  The  worthy  Dean  is  not 
very  well,  and  I  fear  not  very  happy.  We  all  like  him  better  than 
we  did.  He  is  the  most  sparkling,  pleasant  little  fellow  I  ever  eaw 
in  my  life." 

How  brilliant  Jeffrey  was,  how  he  delighted  them  all  with  his 
anecdotes,  his  mockeries,  and  his  mimicries,  Carlyle  has  amply  con- 
fessed; and  he  has  acknowledged  the  serious  excellence  which  lay 
behind  the  light  exterior.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  he  sent  the 
501.  to  Hazlitt,  which  came  too  late,  and  found  poor  Hazlitt  dying. 
It  was  on  this  occasion  that  he  renewed  his  generous  offer  to  lift 
Carlyle  for  a  time  over  his  difficulties  out  of  his  own  purse,  and, 
when  he  could  not  prevail,  promised  to  help  John  Carlyle  in  Lon- 
don, give  him  introductions,  and,  if  possible,  launch  him  in  his  pro- 
fession. He  charged  himself  with  the  "Literary  History,"  carried 
it  off  with  him,  and  undertook  to  recommend  it  to  Longman.  From 
all  this  Jeffrey  had  nothing  to  gain :  it  was  but  the  expression  of 
hearty  good-will  to  Carlyle  himself,  for  his  own  sake  and  for  the 
sake  of  his  wife,  in  whom  he  had  at  least  an  equal  interest.  He 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  73 

wrote  to  her  as  cousin :  what  the  exact  relationship  was  I  know  not ; 
but  it  was  near  enough,  as  he  thought,  to  give  him  a  right  to  watch 
over  her  welfare;  and  the  thought  of  Carlyle  persisting,  in  the  face 
of  imminent  ruin,  in  what  to  him  appeared  a  vain  hallucination,  and 
the  thought  still  more  of  this  delicate  woman  degraded  to  the  duties 
of  the  mistress  of  a  farm-house,  and  obliged  to  face  another  winter 
in  so  frightful  a  climate,  was  simply  horrible  to  him.  She  had  not 
concealed  from  him  that  she  was  not  happy  at  Craigenputtock;  and 
the  longer  he  reflected  upon  it  the  more  out  of  humor  he  became 
with  the  obstinate  philosopher  who  had  doomed  her  to  live  there 
under  such  conditions. 

It  is  evident  from  his  letters  that  he  held  Carlyle  to  be  gravely  re- 
sponsible. He  respected  many  sides  of  his  character,  but  he  looked 
on  him  as  under  the  influence  of  a  curious  but  most  reprehensible 
vanity,  which  would  not,  and  could  not,  land  him  anywhere  but  in 
poverty  and  disappointment,  while  all  the  time  the  world  was  ready 
and  eager  to  open  its  arms  and  lavish  its  liberality  upon  him  if  he 
would  but  consent  to  walk  in  its  ways  and  be  like  other  men.  In 
this  humor  nothing  that  Carlyle  did  would  please  him.  He  quar- 
relled with  the  "  Literary  History."  He  disliked  the  views  in  it;  he 
found  fault  with  the  style.  After  reading  it,  he  had  to  say  that  he 
did  not  see  how  he  could  be  of  use  in  the  obstetrical  department  to 
which  he  had  aspired  in  its  behalf. 

"Hang  them!  [said  Carlyle  bitterly,  as  one  disappointment  trod 
on  the  heels  of  another]  hang  them!  "I  have  a  book  in  me  that  will 
cause  ears  to  tingle,  and  one  day  out  it  must  and  will  issue.  In  this 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  magazine  editors  we  shall  not  always  linger. 
Courage !  Not  hope — for  she  was  always  a  liar — but  courage !  cour- 
age!" 

An  account  of  Jeffrey's  visit  is  inserted  in  the  "Journal."  Car- 
lyle was  evidently  trying  to  think  as  well  as  he  could  about  his  great 
friend,  and  was  not  altogether  succeeding. 

"  The  Jeffreys  were  here  for  about  a  week.  Very  good  and  inter- 
esting beyond  wont  was  our  worthy  Dean.  He  is  growing  old,  and 
seems  dispirited  and  partly  unhappy.  The  fairest  cloak  has  its 
wrong  side,  where  the  seams  and  straggling  stitches  afflict  the  eye! 
Envy  no  man.  Nescis  quo  urit.  Thou  knowest  not  where  the  shoe 
pinches. 

"Jeffrey's  essential  talent  sometimes  seems  to  me  to  have  been 
that  of  a  Goldoni,  some  comic  dramatist,  not  without  a  touch  of  fine 
lyrical  pathos.  He  is  the  best  mimic  in  the  lowest  and  highest 
senses  I  ever  saw.  All  matters  that  have  come  before  him  he  has 
taken  up  in  little  dainty  comprehensible  forms;  chiefly  logical — for 
he  is  a  Scotchman  and  a  lawyer  —  and  encircled  with  sparkles  of 
conversational  wit  or  persiflage ;  yet  with  deeper  study  he  would 
have  found  poetical  forms  for  them,  and  his  persiflage  miiht  have 

II.-4 


74  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLK 

incorporated  itself  with  the  love  and  pure  human  feeling  that  dwells 
deeply  in  him.  This  last  is  his  highest  strength,  though  he  himself 
hardly  knows  the  significance  of  it;  he  is  one  of  the~  most  loving 
men  alive;  has  a  true  kindness,  not  of  blood  and  habit  only,  but  of 
soul  and  spirit.  He  cannot  do  without  being  loved.  He  "is  in  the 
highest  degree  social;  and,  in  defect  of  this,  gregarious ;  which  last 
condition  he.  in  these  bad  times,  has  for  the  most  part  had  to  con- 
tent himself  withal.  Every  way,  indeed,  he  has  fallen  on  evil  days; 
the  prose  spirit  of  the  world — to  which  world  his  kindliness  draws 
him  so  strongly  and  so  closely — has  choked  up,  and  all  but  withered, 
the  better  poetic  spirit  he  derived  from  nature.  Whatever  is  high- 
est he  entertains,  like  other  Whigs,  only  as  an  ornament,  as  an  ap- 
pendage. The  great  business  of  man  he,  intellectually,  considers,  as 
a  worldling  does,  to  be  happy.  I  have  heard  him  say,' '  If  folly  were 
the  happiest,  I  would  be  a  fool.'  Yet  his  daily  life  belies  this  doc- 
trine, and  says,  '  Though  goodness  were  the  most  wretched,  I  would 
be  good.' 

"  In  conversation  he  is  brilliant,  or  rather  sparkling,  lively,  kind, 
willing  either  to  speak  or  listen,  and,  above  all  men  I  have  ever  seen, 
ready  and  copious,  on  the  whole  exceedingly  pleasant  hi  light  talk 
— yet,  alas!  light,  light,  too  light.  He  wilTtalk  of  nothing  earMtBy, 
though  his  look  sometimes  betrays  an  earnest  feeling.  *"  He  starts 
contradictions  in  such  cases,  and  argues,  argues.  Neither  is  his 
arguing  like  that  of  a  thinker,  but  of  the  advocate — victory,  not 
truth.  A  right  terra  jftiu*  would  feel  irresistibly  disposed  to  wash 
him  away.  He  is  not  a  strong  man  hi  any  shape,  but  nimble  and 
tough. 

"He  stands  midway  between  God  and  Mammon,  and  his  preach- 
ing through  Me  has  been  an  attempt  to  reconcile  them.  Hence  his 
popularity — a  thing  easily  accountable  when  one  looks  at  the  world 
and  at  him,  but  litUe  honorable  to  either.  Literature!  poetry!  Ex- 
cept by  a  dun  indestructible  instinct,  which  he  has  never  dared  to 
avow,  yet,  being  a  true  poet  hi  his  way.  could  never  eradicate,  he 
knows  not  what  they  mean.  A  true  newspaper  critic  on  the  great 
scale;  no  priest,  but  a  concionator. 

"  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he  is  about  the  be*t  man  I  ever  saw.  Some- 
times I  think  he  will  abjure  the  devil  if  he  live,  and  become  a  pure 
light.  Already  he  is  a  most  tricksy,  dainty,  beautiful  little  spirit. 
I  have  seen  gleams  on  the  face  and  eyes  of  the  man  that  let  you  look 
into  a  higher  country.  God  bless  him!  These  jottings  are  as  sin- 
cere as  I  could  write  "them;  yet  too  dun  and  inaccurately  compacted. 
I  see  the  nail,  but  have  not  here  hit  it  on  the  head." 

Meanwhile,  and  in  the  midst  of  Jeffrey's  animadversions,  Carlyle 
himself  was  about  to  take  a  higher  flight.  He  "  had  a  book  hi  him 
which  would  cause  ears  to  tingle."  Out  of  his  discontent,  out  of  his 
impatience  with  the  hard  circumstances  which  crossed,  thwarted, 
and  pressed  him,  there  was  growing  hi  his  mind  "Sartor  Resartus." 
He  had  thoughts  fermenting  hi  him  which  were  struggling  to  be 
uttered.  He  had  something  real  to  say  about  the  world  and  man's 
position  hi  it  to  which,  could  it  but  find  fit  expression,  he  knew  that 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  75 

attention  must  be  paid.  The  "clothes  philosophy,"  which  had  per- 
haps been  all  which  his  first  sketch  contained,  gave  him  the  neces- 
sary form.  His  own  history,  inward  and  outward,  furnished  sub- 
stance; some  slight  invention  being  all  that  was  needed  to  disguise 
his  literal  individuality ;  and  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  he  set  him- 
self down  passionately  to  work.  Fast  as  he  could  throw  his  ideas 
upon  paper  the  material  grew  upon  him.  The  origin  of  the  book  is 
still  traceable  in  the  half-fused,  tumultuous  condition  in  which  the 
metal  was  poured  into  the  mould.  With  all  his  efforts  in  calmer 
times  to  give  it  artistic  harmony  he  could  never  fully  succeed. 
"There  are  but  a  few  pages  in  it,"  he  said  to  me,  "  which  are  rightly 
done."  It  is  well,  perhaps,  that  he  did  not  succeed.  The  incom- 
pleteness of  the  smelting  shows  all  the  more  the  actual  condition  of 
his  mind.  If  defective  as  a  work  of  art,  "  Sartor"  is  for  that  very 
reason  a  revelation  of  Carlyle's  individuality. 

The  idea  had  first  struck  him  when  on  a  visit  with  Mrs.  Carlyle 
at  Templand.  Customs,  institutions,  religious  creeds,  what  were  they 
but  clothes  in  which  human  creatures  covered  their  native  nakedness, 
and  enabled  men  themselves  to  live  harmoniously  and  decently  to- 
gether? Clothes,  dress,  changed  with  the  times;  they  grew  old,  they 
were  elaborate,  they  were  simple;  they  varied  with  fashion  or  habit 
of  life ;  they  were  the  outward  indicators  of  the  inward  and  spiritual 
nature.  The  analogy  gave  the  freest  scope  and  play  for  the  wilful- 
lest  and  wildest  humor.  The  ' '  Teuf  elsdrockh, "  which  we  have  seen 
seeking  in  vain  for  admission  into  London  magazines,  was  but  a 
first  rude  draft.  Parts  of  this  perhaps  survive  as  they  were  origi- 
nally written  in  the  opening  chapters.  The  single  article,  when  it 
was  returned  to  him,  first  expanded  into  two;  then  he  determined  to 
make  a  book  of  it,  into  which  he  could  project  his  entire  self.  The 
Foreign  Quarterly  continued  good  to  him.  He  could  count  on  an 
occasional  place  in  Fraser.  The  part  already  written  of  his  "Liter- 
ary History,"  slit  into  separate  articles,  would  keep  him  alive  till  the 
book  was  finished.  He  had  been  well  paid  for  his  "  Life  of  Schil- 
ler. "  If  the  execution  corresponded  to  the  conception,  that ' '  Sartor  " 
would  be  ten  times  better. 

On  the  19th  of  October  he  described  what  he  was  about  to  hia 
brother.  ' '  I  am  leading  the  stillest  life,  musing  amidst  the  pale 
sunshine,  or  rude  winds  of  October  Tirl  the  Trees,  when  I  go  walk- 
ing in  this  almost  ghastly  solitude,  and  for  the  rest  writing  with  im- 
petuosity. I  think  it  not  impossible  that  I  may  see  you  this  winter 
in  London.  I  mean  to  come  whenever  I  can  spare  the  money,  that 
I  may  look  about  me  among  men  for  a  little.  What  I  am  writing 
at  is  the  strangest  of  all  things.  A  very  singular  piece,  I  assure  you. 
It  glances  from  heaven  to  earth  and  back  again,  in  a  strange  satirical 
frenzy,  whether  fine  or  not  remains  to  be  seen." 


76  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Near  the  same  date  he  writes  to  his  mother: 

"The  wife  and  I  are  very  quiet  here,  and  accustoming  ourselves 
as  fast  as  we  can  to  the  stillness  of  winter,  which  is  fast  coming  on. 
These  are  the  grayest  and  most  silent  days  I  ever  saw.  My  besom, 
as  I  sweep  up  the  withered  leaves,  might  be  heard  at  a  furlong's  dis- 
tance. The  woods  are  getting  very  parti-colored;  the  old  trees  quite 
bare.  All  witnesses  that  another  year  has  travelled  away.  What 
good  and  evil  has  it  brought  us?  May  God  sanctify  them  both  to 
every  one  of  us!  I  study  not  to  get  too  wae;  but  often  I  think  of 
many  solemn  and  sad  things,  which,  indeed,  I  do  not  wish  to  forget. 
We  are  all  in  God's  hand;  otherwise  this  world,  which  is  not  wholly 
a  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  were  too  frightful.  Why  should 
we  fear  ?  Let  us  hope.  We  are  in  the  place  of  hope.  Our  life  is 
a  hope.  But  far  better  than  all  reasonings  for  cheerfulness  is  the 
diligence  I  use  in  following  my  daily  business.  For  the  last  three 
weeks  I  have  been  writing  by  task-work  again,  and  get  along  won- 
derfully well.  What  it  is  to  be  I  cannot  yet  tell — whether  a  book  or 
a  string  of  magazine  articles.  We  hope  the  former;  but  in  either 
case  it  may  be  worth  something. " 

"Sartor"  was  indeed  a  free-flowing  torrent,  the  outbursting  of 
emotions  which  as  yet  had  found  no  escape.  The  discontent  which 
in  a  lower  shape  was  rushing  into  French  Revolutions,  Reform  Bills, 
Emancipation  Acts,  Socialism,  and  Bristol  riots  and  rick-burnings, 
had  driven  Carlyle  into  far  deeper  inquiries — inquiries  into  the  how 
and  why  of  these  convulsions  of  the  surface.  The  Hebrew  spiritual 
robes  he  conceived  were  no  longer  suitable,  and  that  this  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  The  Hebrew  clothes  had  become  "  old  clothes  " 
—not  the  fresh-wrought  garments  adapted  to  man's  real  wants,  but 
sold  at  second-hand,  and  gaping  at  all  their  seams.  Radical  also  po- 
litically Carlyle  was  at  this  time.  The  constitution  of  society,  as  he 
looked  at  it,  was  unjust  from  end  to  end.  The  workers  were  starv- 
ing; the  idle  were  revelling  in  luxury.  Radicalism,  as  he  understood 
it,  meant  the  return  of  Astrsea — an  approach  to  equity  in  the  appor- 
tionment of  good  and  evil  in  this  world;  and  on  the  intellectual  side, 
if  not  encouragement  of  truth,  at  least  the  withdrawal  of  exclusive 
public  support  of  what  was  not  true,  or  only  partially  true.  He  did 
then  actually  suppose  that  the  Reform  Bill  meant  something  of  that 
kind ;  that  it  was  a  genuine  effort  of  honorable  men  to  clear  the  air 
of  imposture.  He  had  not  realized,  what  life  afterwards  taught  him, 
that  the  work  of  centuries  was  not  to  be  accomplished  by  a  single 
political  change,  and  that  the  Reform  Bill  was  but  a  singeing  of  the 
dung-heap.  Even  then  he  was  no  believer  in  the  miraculous  effects 
to  be  expected  from  an  extended  suffrage.  He  knew  well  enough 
that  the  welfare  of  the  State,  like  the  welfare  of  everything  else,  re- 
quired that  the  wise  and  good  should  govern,  and  the  unwise  and 
selfish  should  be  governed;  that  of  all  methods  of  discovering  and 
promoting  your  wise  man  the  voice  of  a  mob  was  the  least  promis- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  77 

ing,  and  that  if  Reform  meant  only  liberty,  and  the  abolition  of  all 
authority,  just  or  unjust,  we  might  be  worse  off,  perhaps,  than  we 
were  already.  But  he  was  impatient  and  restless;  stung,  no  doubt, 
by  resentment  at  the  alternative  offered  to  himself  either  to  become  a 
humbug  or  to  be  beaten  from  the  field  by  starvation ;  and  the  memor- 
able epitaph  on  Count  Zaehdarm  and  his  achievements  hi  this  world 
showed  in  what  direction  his  intellectual  passions  were  running. 

It  seems  that  when  Jeffrey  was  at  Craigenputtock  Carlyle  must 
have  opened  his  mind  to  him  on  these  matters,  and  still  more  fully  in 
some  letter  afterwards.  Jeffrey,  who  was  a  Whig  of  the  Whigs,  who 
believed  in  liberty,  but  by  liberty  meant  the  right  of  every  man  to  do 
as  he  pleased  with  his  own  as  long  as  he  did  not  interfere  with  his 
neighbor,  had  been  made  seriously  angry.  Mysticism  was  a  pardon- 
able illusion,  provoking  enough  while  it  lasted,  but  likely  to  clear  off, 
as  the  morning  mist  when  the  sun  rises  higher  above  the  horizon ; 
but  these  political  views,  taken  up  especially  by  a  man  so  determined 
and  so  passionately  in  earnest  as  Carlyle,  were  another  thing,  and  an 
infinitely  more  dangerous  thing.  Reform  within  moderate  limits 
waa  well  enough,  but  these  new  opinions,  if  they  led  to  anything, 
must  lead  to  revolution.  Jeffrey  believed  that  they  were  wild  and 
impracticable;  that  if  ever  misguided  missionaries  of  sedition  could 
by  eloquence  and  resolute  persistence  persuade  the  multitude  to  adopt 
notions  subversive  of  the  rights  of  property,  the  result  could  only  be 
universal  ruin.  His  regard,  and  even  esteem,  for  Carlyle  seem  to 
have  sensibly  diminished  from  this  time.  He  half  feared  him  for 
the  mischief  which  he  might  do,  half  gave  him  up  as  beyond  help — 
at  least  as  beyond  help  from  himself.  He  continued  friendly.  He 
was  still  willing  to  help  Carlyle  within  the  limits  which  his  con- 
science allowed,  but  from  this  moment  the  desire  to  push  him  for- 
ward in  the  politico-literary  world  cooled  down  or  altogether  ceased. 

He  tried  the  effect,  however,  of  one  more  lecture,  the  traces  of 
which  are  visible  in  "  Sartor."  He  had  a  horror  of  Radicalism,  he 
said.  It  was  nothing  but  the  old  feud  against  property,  made  for- 
midable by  the  intelligence  and  conceit  of  those  who  had  none. 
Carlyle's  views  either  meant  the  destruction  of  the  right  of  property 
altogether,  and  the  establishment  of  a  universal  co-operative  system 
— and  this  no  one  in  his  senses  could  contemplate — or  they  were  non- 
sense. Anything  short  of  the  abolition  of  property,  sumptuary  laws, 
limitation  of  the  accumulation  of  fortunes,  compulsory  charity,  or 
redivision  of  land,  would  not  make  the  poor  better  off,  but  would 
make  all  poor;  would  lead  to  the  destruction  of  all  luxury,  elegance, 
art,  and  intellectual  culture,  and  reduce  men  to  a  set  of  savages 
scrambling  for  animal  subsistence.  The  institution  of  property 
brought  some  evils  with  it,  and  a  revolting  spectacle  of  inequality. 
But  to  touch  it  would  entail  evils  still  greater ;  for,  though  the  poor 


78  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

suffered,  their  lot  was  only  what  the  lot  of  the  great  mass  of  mankind 
must  necessarily  be  under  every  conceivable  condition.  They  would 
escape  the  pain  of  seeing  others  better  off  than  they  were,  but  they 
would  be  no  better  off  themselves,  while  they  would  lose  the  mental 
improvement  which  to  a  certain  extent  spread  downwards  through 
society  as  long  as  culture  existed  anywhere,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
hope  and  chance  of  rising  to  a  higher  level,  which  was  itself  enjoy- 
ment even  if  it  were  never  realized.  Rich  men,  after  all,  spent  most 
of  their  income  on  the  poor.  Except  a  small  waste  of  food  on  their 
servants  and  horses,  they  were  mere  distributors  among  frugal  and 
industrious  workmen. 

If  Carlyle  meant  to  be  a  politician,  Jeffrey  begged  him  to  set 
about  it  modestly  and  patiently,  and  submit  to  study  the  questions 
a  little  under  those  who  had  studied  them  longer.  If  he  was  a 
Radical,  why  did  he  keep  two  horses  himself,  producing  nothing 
and  consuming  the  food  of  six  human  creatures,  that  his  own  dia- 
phragm might  be  healthily  agitated?  Riding-horses  interfered  with 
the  subsistence  of  men  five  hundred  times  more  than  the  unfortu- 
nate partridges.1  So  again  Carlyle  had  adopted  the  Radical  objec- 
tions to  machinery.  Jeffrey  inquired  if  he  meant  to  burn  carts  and 
ploughs — nay,  even  spades  too,  for  spades  were  but  machines?  Per- 
haps he  would  end  by  only  allowing  men  to  work  with  one  hand,2 
that  the  available  work  might  employ  a  larger  number  of  persons. 
Yet  for  such  aims  as  these  Carlyle  thought  a  Radical  insurrection 
justifiable  and  its  success  to  be  desired.  The  very  first  enactments 
of  a  successful  revolution  would  be  in  this  spirit :  the  overseers  of 
the  poor  would  be  ordered  to  give  twelve  or  twenty  shillings  to 
every  man  who  could  not,  or  said  he  could  not,  earn  as  much  by 
the  labor  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed. 

Speculations  on  these  and  kindred  subjects  are  found  scattered 
up  and  down  in  "  Sartor."  Jeffrey  was  crediting  Carlyle  with  ex- 
travagances which  it  is  impossible  that  even  in  his  then  bitter  hu- 
mor he  could  have  seriously  entertained.  He  was  far  enough  from 
desiring  insurrection,  although  a  conviction  did  lay  at  the  very  bot- 
tom of  his  mind  that  incurably  unjust  societies  would  find  in  in- 
surrection and  conflagration  their  natural  consummation  and  end. 
But  it  is  likely  that  he  talked  with  fierce  exaggeration  on  such  sub- 
jects. He  always  did  talk  so.  It  is  likely,  too,  that  he  had  come  to 
some  hasty  conclusions  on  the  intractable  problems  of  social  life, 
and  believed  changes  to  be  possible  and  useful  which  fuller  knowl- 
edge of  mankind  showed  him  to  be  dreams.  Before  a  just  allot- 
ment of  wages  in  this  world  could  be  arrived  at — just  payment  ac- 

1  See  the  Zaehdarm  Epitaph. 

9  A  curiously  accurate  prophecy  on  Jeffrey's  part,  not  as  regarded  Carlyle,  but  as  to 
the  necessary  tendency  of  the  unionist  theory. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  79 

cording  to  real  desert — he  perceived  at  last  that  mankind  must  be 
themselves  made  just,  and  that  such  a  transformation  is  no  work  of 
a  political  revolution.  Carlyle,  too,  had  been  attracted  to  the  Saint- 
Simonians.  He  had  even,  hi  a  letter  to  Goethe,  expressed  some  in- 
terest and  hope  hi  them ;  and  the  wise  old  man  had  warned  him  off 
from  the  dangerous  illusion.  ' '  Von  der  Societe  Saint-Simonien  bitte 
Dich  fern  zu  halten,"  Goethe  had  said.  "  From  the  Society  of  the 
Saint-Simonians  I  entreat  you  to  hold  yourself  clear. " '  Jeffrey's  prac- 
tical sense  had  probably  suggested  difficulties  to  Carlyle  which  he 
had  overlooked;  and  Goethe  carried  more  weight  with  him  than 
Jeffrey.  ' '  Sartor  "  may  have  been  improved  by  their  remonstrances ; 
yet  there  lie  in  it  the  germs  of  all  Carlyle's  future  teaching — a  clear 
statement  of  problems  of  the  gravest  import,  which  cry  for  a  solu- 
tion, which  insist  on  a  solution,  yet  on  which  political  economy  and 
Whig  political  philosophy  fail  utterly  to  throw  the  slightest  light. 
I  will  mention  one  to  which  Carlyle  to  his  latest  hour  was  continu- 
ally returning.  Jeffrey  was  a  Malthusian.  He  had  a  horror  and 
dread  of  over-population.  "Sartor"  answers  him  with  a  scorn 
which  recalls  Swift's  famous  suggestion  of  a  remedy  for  the  dis- 
tresses of  Ireland : 

"  The  old  Spartans  had  a  wiser  method,  and  went  out  and  hunted 
down  their  Helots,  and  speared  and  spitted  them  when  they  grew  too 
numerous.  With  our  improved  fashions  of  hunting,  now,  after  the 
invention  of  firearms  and  standing  armies,  how  much  easier  were 
such  a  hunt !  Perhaps  in  the  most  thickly  peopled  countries  some 
three  days  annually  might  suffice  to  shoot  all  the  able-bodied  pau- 
pers that  had  accumulated  within  the  year.  Let  government  think 
of  this.  The  expense  were  trifling ;  the  very  carcasses  would  pay  it. 
Have  them  salted  and  barrelled.  Could  you  not  victual  therewith, 
if  not  army  and  navy,  yet  richly  such  infirm  paupers,  in  workhouses 
and  elsewhere,  as  enlightened  charity,  dreading  no  evil  of  them, 
might  see  good  to  keep  alive? 

"  And  yet  there  must  be  something  wrong.  A  full-formed  horse 
will  'in  any  market  bring  from  twenty  to  two  hundred  friedrichs- 
d'or.  Such  is  his  worth  to  the  world.  A  full-formed  man  is  not 
only  worth  nothing  to  the  world,  but  the  world  could  afford  him  a 
good  round  sum  would  he  simply  engage  to  go  and  hang  himself. 
Nevertheless,  which  of  the  two  was  the  more  cunningly  devised  ar- 
ticle, even  as  an  engine  ?  Good  heavens  !  a  white  European  man, 
standing  on  his  two  legs,  with  his  two  five-fingered  hands  at  his 
shacklebones,  and  miraculous  head  on  his  shoulders,  is  worth,  I 
should  say,  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  horses  ! 

"What  portion  of  this  inconsiderable  terraqueous  globe  have  ye 
actually  tilled  and  delved  till  it  will  grow  no  more  ?  How  thick 
stands  your  population  in  the  pampas  and  savannas  of  America, 
round  ancient  Carthage  and  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  on  both  slopes 

i  This  sentence  alone  survives  of  Goethe's  letter  on  the  occasion,  extracted  in  one  of 
Carlyle's  own. 


80  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  the  Atlantic  chain,  in  the  central  platform  of  Asia,  in  Spain, 
Greece,  Turkey,  Grim  Tartary,  and  the  Curragh  of  Kildare  ?  One 
man  in  one  year,  as  I  have  understood  it,  if  you  lend  him  earth,  will 
feed  himself  and  nine  others.  Alas!  where  are  now  the  Hengsts 
and  Alarics  of  our  still  growing,  still  expanding  Europe,  who  when 
their  home  is  grown  too  narrow  will  enlist,  and  like  fire-pillars  guide 
onwards  those  superfluous  masses  of  indomitable  living  valor, 
equipped  not  now  with  the  battle-axe  and  war-chariot,  but  with  the 
steam-engine  and  ploughshare ?  Where  are  they?  Preserving  their 
game !" 

When  Carlyle  published  his  views  on  "the  Nigger  question,"  his 
friends  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  were  astonished  and  outraged. 
Yet  the  thought  in  that  pamphlet  and  the  thought  in  "  Sartor"  is 
precisely  the  same.  When  a  man  can  be  taught  to  work  and  made 
to  work,  he  has  a  distinct  value  in  the  world  appreciable  by  money 
like  the  value  of  a  horse.  In  the  state  of  liberty  where  he  belongs 
to  nobody,  and  his  industry  cannot  be  calculated  upon,  he  makes 
his  father  poorer  when  he  is  born.  Slavery  might  be  a  bad  system, 
but  under  it  a  child  was  worth  at  least  as  much  as  a  foal,  and  the 
master  was  interested  in  rearing  it.  Abolish  slavery  and  substitute 
anarchy  in  the  place  of  it,  and  the  parents,  themselves  hardly  able 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  will  bless  God  when  a  timely  fever 
relieves  them  of  a  troublesome  charge. 

This  fact,  for  fact  it  is,  still  waits  for  elucidation,  and  I  often 
heard  Carlyle  refer  to  it;  jet  he  was  always  able  to  see  "the  other 
side."  No  Hengst  or  Alaric  had  risen  in  the  fifty  years  which  had 
passed  since  he  had  written  "  Sartor;"  yet  not  long  before  his  death 
he  was  talking  to  me  of  America  and  of  the  success  with  which  the 
surplus  population  of  Europe  had  been  carried  across  the  sea  and 
distributed  over  that  enormous  continent.  Frederick  himself,  he 
said,  could  not  have  done  it'  better,  even  with  absolute  power  and 
unlimited  resources,  than  it  had  "done  itself"  by  the  mere  action 
of  unfettered  liberty. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A.D.   1831.      .ET.  36. 

A  CHANGE  meanwhile  came  over  the  face  of  English  politics. 
Lord  Grey  became  Prime-minister,  and  Brougham  Chancellor,  and 
all  Britain  was  wild  over  Reform  and  the  coming  millennium. 
Jeffrey  went  into  Parliament  and  was  rewarded  for  his  long  services 
by  being  taken  into  the  new  government  as  Lord  -  advocate.  Of 
course  he  had  to  remove  to  London,  and  his  letters,  which  hence- 
forward were  addressed  chiefly  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  were  filled  with  ac- 
counts of  Cabinet  meetings,  dinners.  Parliamentary  speeches — all  for 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  81 

the  present  going  merry  as  a  marriage  bell.  Carlyle  at  Craigenput- 
tock  continued  steady  to  his  work.  His  money  difficulties  seemed 
likely  to  mend  a  little.  Napier  was  overcoming  his  terror,  and 
might  perhaps  take  articles  again  from  him  for  the  Edinburgh. 
The  new  Westminster  was  open  to  him.  The  Foreign  Quarterly  had 
not  deserted  him,  and  between  them  and  Fraser  he  might  still  find 
room  enough  at  his  disposal.  The  "  Literary  History  "  was  cut  up 
as  had  been  proposed;  the  best  parts  of  it  were  published  in  the 
coming  year  in  the  form  of  essays,  and  now  constitute  the  greater 
part  of  the  third  volume  of  the  "Miscellanies."  A  second  paper  on 
Schiller,  and  another  on  Jean  Paul,  both  of  which  had  been  for  some 
time  seeking  in  vain  for  an  editor  who  would  take  them,  were  ad- 
mitted into  the  Foreign  Review  and  Fraser.  Sufficient  money  was 
thus  ultimately  obtained  to  secure  the  household  from  starvation. 
But  some  months  passed  before  these  arrangements  could  be  com- 
pleted, and  "  Sartor"  had  to  go  on  with  the  prospect  still  gloomy  in 
the  extreme.  Irving  had  seen  and  glanced  over  the  first  sketch  of  it 
when  it  was  in  London,  and  had  sent  a  favorable  opinion.  Carlyle 
himself,  notwithstanding  his  work,  found  time  for  letters  to  his 
brother,  who  was  still  hankering  after  literature. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigcuputtock :  February  26, 1831. 

"Till  "Wednesday  I  am  preparing  'Reineke'  and  various  little 
etceteras,  after  which  I  purpose  seriously  inclining  heart  and  hand 
to  the  finishing  of  '  Teuf  elsdrockh ' — if,  indeed,  it  be  finishable.  How 
could  you  remember  Irving's  criticism  so  well?  Tell  him  it  was 
quite  like  himself;  he  said  all  that  was  friendly,  flattering,  and  en- 
couraging, yet  with  the  right  faults  kindly  indicated — a  true  picture 
painted  couleur  de  rose.  I  will  make  the  attempt.  And  now,  dear 
Jack,  as  to  the  last  fraction  of  the  letter ;  a  word  about  you.  Sorry 
am  I  to  see  your  supplies  running  so  low,  and  so  little  outlook  for 
bettering  them :  yet  what  advice  to  give  you?  I  have  said  a  thousand 
times,  when  you  could  not  believe  me,  that  the  trade  of  literature 
was  worse  as  a  trade  than  that  of  honest  street-sweeping;  that  I 
know  not  how  a  man  without  some  degree  of  prostitution  could  live 
by  it,  unless  indeed  he  were  situated  like  me,  and  could  live  upon 
potatoes  and  point  if  need  were — as  indeed  need  has  been,  is,  and 
will  be,  with  better  men  than  me.  If  the  angels  have  any  humor, 
I  am  sure  they  laughed  heartily  to-day,  as  I  myself  have  repeatedly 
done,  to  see  Alick  setting  off  with  twelvepence  of  copper,  a  long 
roll  like  a  pencase,  the  whole  disposable  capital  of  both  our  house- 
holds. I  realized  six,  he  six,  so  he  was  enabled  to  go.  I  was  for 
keeping  three,  but  he  looked  wistfully,  and  I  gave  him  them  with 
loud  laughter.  He  had  borrowed  all  our  money  and  did  not  get  pay- 
ments last  Wednesday,  but  surely  will  on  Monday.  ...  I  could  also 
prove  that  a  life  of  scribbling  is  the  worst  conceivable  for  cultivat- 
ing thought,  which  is  the  noblest,  and  the  only  noble,  thing  in  us. 
Your  ideas  never  get  root,  cannot  be  sown,  but  are  ground  down 

II.— 4* 


83  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

from  day  to  day.  Oh  that  I  heard  of  any  medicine  for  your  practis- 
ing, were  it  only  on  the  lower  animals!  However,  patience — cour- 
age. The  time  is  coming — dear  Jack,  keep  a  stout  heart;  I  think  I 
notice  in  you  a  considerable  improvement  since  you  left  us;  a  far 
more  manly  bearing.  Never  despond.  If  you  see  no  feasible  method 
of  ever  fairly  attempting  to  get  professional  employment  in  London, 
why  then  I  think  I  would  leave  London.  Do  not  fall  into  straits. 
Do  not  involve  yourself  in  debt.  Come  out  of  it.  Come  hither. 
Share  our  provisions,  such  as  the  good  God  gives  us — our  roof  and 
our  welcome,  and  we  will  consider  which  way  you  are  next  to  try 
it.  Above  all,  hide  nothing  from  me,  and  I  will  hide  it  from  the 
Scotsbrig  people  whenever  you  bid  me. 

"And  so  God  bless  you,  clear  brother.  Fear  nothing  but  behaving 
unwisely.  T.  CARLYLE." 

Alick  Carlyle  was  to  leave  Craigenputtock  at  Whitsuntide,  a 
neighboring  grazier  having  offered  the  full  rent  for  the  farm,  which 
Alick  was  unable  to  afford.  Where  he  was  to  go  and  what  was  to 
become  of  him  was  the  great  family  anxiety. 

"  Little  things  [said  Carlyle]  are  great  to  little  men,  to  little  man; 
for  what  was  the  Moscow  expedition  to  Napoleon  but  the  offering 
also  for  a  new  and  larger  farm  whereon  to  till?  and  this  too  was  but 
a  mere  clout  of  a  farm  compared  with  the  great  farm  whose  name 
is  Time,  or  the  quite  boundless  freehold  which  is  called  Eternity. 
Let  us  feel  our  bits  of  anxieties  therefore,  and  make  our  bits  of  ef- 
forts, and  think  no  shame  of  them." 

Both  brothers  were  virtually  thrown  upon  his  hands,  while  he 
seemingly  was  scarce  able  to  take  care  of  himself  and  his  wife. 
When  Alick  was  gone  he  and  she  would  be  left  "literally  unter  vier 
Augen,  alone  among  the  whinstone  deserts;  within  fifteen  miles  not 
one  creature  they  could  so  much  as  speak  to,"  and  "  Sartor  "  was  to 
be  written  under  such  conditions.  Another  winter  at  Craigenput- 
tock in  absolute  solitude  was  a  prospect  too  formidable  to  be  faced. 
They  calculated  that  with  the  utmost  economy  they  might  have  501. 
in  hand  by  the  end  of  the  summer,  "  Teuf  elsdrSckh  "  could  by  that 
time  be  finished.  Mrs.  Carlyle  could  stay  and  take  care  of  Craigen- 
puttock, while  Carlyle  himself  would  visit  "the  great  beehive  and 
wasp's  nest  of  London, "find  a  publisher  for  his  book,  and  then  see 
whether  there  was  any  other  outlook  for  him.  If  none  offered,  there 
was  still  a  resource  behind,  suggested  perhaps  by  the  first  success  of 
Irving  and  advised  by  Charles  Buller. 

"I  have  half  a  mind  [he  wrote  to  John,  warning  him  at  the  same 
time  to  be  secret  about  it]  to  start  when  I  come  there,  if  the  ground 
promise  well,  and  deliver  a  dozen  lectures  in  my  own  Annandale  ac- 
cent with  my  own  God-created  brain  and  heart,  to  such  audience  as 
will  gather  round  me,  on  some  section  or  aspect  of  this  strange  life 
in  this  strange  era,  of  which  my  soul,  like  Eliphaz  the  Temanite's,  is 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  83 

getting  fuller  and  fuller.  Does  there  seem  to  thee  any  propriety  in 
a  man  that  has  organs  of  speech  and  even  some  semblance  of  under- 
standing and  sincerity  sitting  forever,  mute  as  a  milestone,  while 
quacks  of  every  color  are  quacking  as  with  lungs  of  brass?  True,  I 
have  no  pulpit ;  but,  as  I  once  said,  cannot  any  man  make  him  a  pul- 
pit simply  by  inverting  the  nearest  tub?  And  what  are  your  Whigs, 
and  Lorn-advocates,  and  Lord-chancellors,  and  the  whole  host  of 
unspeakably  gabbling  parliamenteers  and  pulpiteers  and  pamphlet- 
eers, if  a  man  suspect  that  there  is  fire  enough  in  his  belly  to  burn 
up  the  entire  creation  of  such?  These  all  build  on  mechanism;  one 
spark  of  dynamism,  of  inspiration,  were  it  in  the  poorest  soul,  is 
stronger  than  they  all 

"  As  for  the  Whig  Ministry  with  whom  Jeffrey  might  appear  to 
connect  me,  I  partly  see  two  things:  first,  that  they  will  have  noth- 
ing in  any  shape  to  do  with  me,  did  I  show  them  the  virtue  of  a 
Paul ;  nay,  the  more  virtue  the  less  chance,  for  virtue  is  the  will  to 
choose  the  good,  not  tool-usefulness,  to  forge  at  the  expedient:  sec- 
ondly, that  they,  the  Whigs,  except  perhaps  Brougham  and  his  im- 
plements, will  not  endure.  The  latter,  indeed,  I  should  wonder  little 
to  see  one  day  a  second  Cromwell.  He  is  the  cunningest  and  the 
strongest  man  in  England  now,  as  I  construe  him,  and  with  no  bet- 
ter principle  than  a  Napoleon  has — a  worship  and  self-devotion  to 
power.  God  be  thanked  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  univer- 
sity and  its  committees.  So  that  Providence  seems  saying  to  me, 
'  Thou  wilt  never  find  pulpit,  were  it  but  a  rhetoric  chair,  provided 
for  thee.  Invert  thy  tub,  and  speak  if  thou  hast  aught  to  say.' 

"Keep  this  inviolably  secret,  and  know  meanwhile  that  if  I  can 
raise  501.  at  the  right  season,  to  London  I  will  certainly  come." 

John  Carlyle  on  his  own  account  needed  fresh  admonition.  Pa- 
tients he  could  hear  of  none.  The  magazine  editors  were  inclining, 
for  his  name's  sake,  to  listen  to  him.  Carlyle's  feeling  about  it  was 
like  that  of  the  rich  man  in  torment. 

To  John  CarlyU. 

"  Craigenputtock :  March  27, 183L 

"I  am  clear  for  your  straining  every  sinew  simply  to  get  medical 
employment,  whether  as  assistant  surgeon  or  in  any  other  honest  ca- 
pacity. Without  any  doubt,  as  the  world  now  stands,  your  safety 
lies  there.  Neither  are  you  so  destitute  of  friends  and  influence 
that  on  any  given  reasonable  plan  a  considerable  force  of  help  could 
not  be  brought  to  bear.  There  are  several,  of  weight,  that  would  on 
more  than  one  ground  rejoice  to  do  their  best  for  you.  Your  world 
of  London  lies  too  dim  before  me  for  specification  in  this  matter. 
Towards  this,  however,  all  your  endeavors  ought  doubtless  to  be  di* 
rected.  Think  and  scheme  and  inquire,  or  rather  continue  to  do  so : 
once  foiled  is  nothing  like  final  defeat.  So  long  as  life  is  in  a  man 
there  is  strength  in  him.  Ein  anderes  Mai  tcollen  icir  u  use-re  Sacfw 
besser  macJien — '  the  next  time  we  will  manage  our  affairs  better ' — 
this  was  Fritz's  Wahlspruch;  and  in  this  place  of  hope,  where  in- 
deed there  is  nothing  for  us  but  hope,  every  brave  man  in  reverses 
says  the  like. 


84  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"For  your  success  with  the  New  Monthly,  or  even  with  Napier,  I 
care  little,  except  so  far  as  it  might  enable  you  to  continue  longer  in 
London  on  the  outlook.  In  other  respects  I  am  nearly  sure  failure 
would  even  be  for  your  good.  Periodical-writing  is,  as  I  have  often 
said,  simply  the  worst  of  all  existing  employments.  No  mortal  that 
had  another  noble  art,  the  noblest  with  but  one  single  exception,  but 
would  turn  from  it  with  abhorrence  and  cleave  with  his  whole  heart 
to  the  other.  I  am  of  opinion  that  you  have  a  talent  in  you,  perhaps 
far  deeper  than  you  yourself  have  often  suspected ;  but  also  that  it 
will  never  come  to  growth  in  that  way.  Incessant  scribbling  is  in- 
evitable death  to  thought.  What  can  grow  in  the  soil  of  that  mind 
which  must  all  be  riddled  monthly  to  see  if  there  are  any  grains  in 
it  that  will  sell?  A  hack  that  contents  himself  with  gathering  any 
offal  of  novelty  or  the  like,  and  simply  spreads  this  out  on  a  stand 
and  begs  the  passengers  to  buy  it,  may  flourish  in  such  craft ;  an 
honest  man,  much  more  a  man  of  any  original  talent,  cannot. 
Thoughts  fall  on  us,  as  I  said,  like  seed.  This  you  will  find  to  be 
true.  It  is  time  only  and  silence  that  can  ripen  them.  So  convinced 
am  I  of  the  dangerous,  precarious,  and,  on  the  whole,  despicable  and 
ungainly  nature  of  a  life  by  scribbling  in  any  shape,  that  I  am  re- 
solved to  investigate  again  whether  even  I  am  forever  doomed 
to  it. 

"I  will  not  leave  literature;  neither  should  you  leave  it.  Nay, 
had  I  but  two  potatoes  in  the  world,  and  one  true  idea,  I  should  hold 
it  my  duty  to  part  with  one  potato  for  paper  and  ink,  and  live  upon 
the  other  till  I  got  it  written.  To  such  extremities  may  a  mere  man 
of  letters  be  brought  in  Britain  at  present;  but  nowise  you,  who 
have  another  footing,  and  can  live  in  a  steady  genial  climate  till  ex- 
perience have  evoked  into  purity  what  is  in  you — then  to  be  spoken 
with  authority  in  the  ears  of  all. 

"  Such  lesson,  my  dear  brother,  had  you  to  learn  in  London  be- 
fore even  the  right  effort  could  begin.  It  is  a  real  satisfaction  that, 
however  bitterly  you  are  learning  or  have  learnt  it,  henceforth 
your  face  and  force  are  turned  in  the  true  direction.  If  not  to-day, 
then  to-morrow  you  must  and  will  advance  prosperously  and  tri- 
umph. Forward,  then,festen  Muth's  undfrohen  Sinn's,  and  God  be 
with  you.  Fear  nothing;  die  Zeit  bringt  Rosen. 

"Of  public  matters  I  could  write  much;  but,  greatly  as  the  spec- 
tacle of  these  times — a  whole  world  quitting  its  old  anchorage  and 
venturing  into  new  untried  seas  with  little  science  of  sailing  aboard 
— solicits  one's  attention,  they  do  not  interest  either  of  us  chiefly.  I 
have  signed  no  petition ;  nay,  I  know  not  whether,  had  I  the  power 
by  speaking  a  word  to  delay  that  consummation  or  hasten  it,  I  would 
speak  the  word.  It  is  a  thing  I  have  either  longed  for  passionately 
or  with  confidence  carelessly  predicted  any  time  these  fifteen  years. 
If  I  with  any  zeal  approve  of  it  now,  it  is  simply  on  the  ground  of 
this  incontrovertible  aphorism  which  the  state  of  all  the  industrious 
in  these  quarters  too  lamentably  confirms — 

'  Hungry  guts  and  empty  purse 
May  be  better,  cau't  be  worse.' 

There  is  no  logic  yet  discovered  that  can  get  behind  this.     Yes,  in. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  85 

God's  name,  let  us  try  it  tho  other  way.     Jane  'salutes  you  with 
greetings  and  sisterly  blessings.' l    Adieu,  dear  Jack,  fur  jetzt. 

"  Ever  your  brother,  T.  CARLYLE." 

In  this  period  of  "potatoes  and  point "  and  "farthing  rushlights  " 
for  illumination  after  dark,  the  reader  may  be  anxious  to  know  how 
Mrs.  Carlyle  was  getting  on.  Little  can  be  said  about  this,  for  Car- 
lyle  tells  next  to  nothing  of  her  save  in  sad  letters  to  Jeffrey,  the  nat- 
ure of  which,  for  they  have  not  been  preserved,  can  only  be  conject- 
ured from  Jeffrey's  replies  to  them.  We  are  left  pretty  much  to  guess 
her  condition ;  and  of  guesses,  the  fewer  that  are  ventured  the  better. 
Here,  however,  is  one  letter  of  her  own  inquiring  after  a  servant  for 
her  mother — one  of  the  collection  which  Carlyle  has  himself  made, 
and  has  attached  notes  and  preface  to  it. 

To  Miss  Jean  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

[Betty  Smail,  mother  of  the  two  servant-girls  treated  of  here,  was 
a  dependant  and  cottager  at  Scotsbrig,  come  of  very  honest  farmer 
people,  though  now  reduced.  She  was  herself  a  hardy,  striving, 
noteworthy,  lithe  body,  stood  a  great  deal  of  sorrow  and  world-con- 
tradiction well,  and  died,  still  at  Scotsbrig,  very  deaf,  and  latterly 
gone  quite  blind,  age  about  ninety,  only  last  year  (1868),  or  the  year 
before.  Her  girl  Jean  did  not  go,  I  think.  Both  these  poor  girls 
died  in  their  mother's  lifetime:  one,  probably  Jean,  soon  after  this 
of  sudden  fever;  the  other  still  more  tragically  of  some  neuralgic  ac- 
cident— suicide,  thought  not  to  be  voluntary,  hardly  two  weeks  be- 
fore my  own  great  loss.  Ah  me! — T.  C.] 

"Craigenputtock:  Spring,  1831. 

"  My  dearest  Jean, — I  was  meaning  to  write  you  a  long  letter  by 
Alick,  but  I  have  been  in  bed  all  day  with  a  headache,  and  am  risen 
so  confused  and  dull  that  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own  I  shall 
keep  my  speculations — news  I  have  none — till  another  opportunity, 
merely  "despatching  in  a  few  words  a  small  piece  of  business  I  have 
to  trouble  you  with,  which  will  not  wait. 

"My  mother  is  wanting  a  woman  at  next  term  to  take  charge  of 
her  few  cattle,  work  out,  and  assist  at  the  washings.  Not  wishing 
to  hire  one  out  of  Thornhill,  she  has  requested  me  to  look  about  for 
her,  and  would  have  liked  Betty  Smail,  whom  I  formerly  recom- 
mended, provided  she  had  been  leaving  the  Andersons.  But  I  was 
happy  to  find  (having  been  the  means  of  placing  there)  that  she  is 
not  leaving  them,  and  continues  to  give  great  satisfaction  by  her  hon- 
est, careful,  obliging  character.  Miss  Anderson  happened  to  men- 
tion to  Betty  that  I  had  been  inquiring  about  her  for  my  mother, 
when  she  suggested  that  her  sister  Jean,  who  is  out  of  a  place,  might 
possibly  answer.  You  know  this  Jean.  Is  she  still  disengaged? 
would  she  be  willing  to  come?  and  do  you  think  she  would  be  fit  for 
the  place  ? 

i  Phrase  of  Edward  Irv-ing's. 


86  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"That  you  may  be  better  able  to  form  a  judgment  in  the  matter, 
I  must  tell  you  my  mother  has  already  one  Jean,  who  is  &  favorite  of 
some  standing;  and  you  know  there  is  not  houseroom  at  Templand 
for  two  favorites  at  once. 

"  The  present  Jean  maintains  her  ground  partly  by  good  service, 
partly  by  wheedling.  To  get  the  good- will  of  her  mistress,  and  so 
have  a  comfortable  life,  the  new-comer,  besides  the  usual  requisites 
in  a  byre-woman,  should  possess  the  art  of  wheedling  in  a  still  high- 
er degree, 'or  she  should  be  an  obtuse,  imperturbable  character  that 
would  take  '  the  good  the  gods  provided/  and  for  the  rest  '  jouk  un- 
til the  jaw  gaed  by, '  would  go  on  honestly  milking  her  cows  and 
'  clatting'  her  byre  'in  maiden  meditation  fancy  free,'  till,  under  a 
change  of  ministry,  which  always  comes  at  last,  she  might  find  her- 
self suddenly  promoted  in  her  turn. 

"  Now  all  this  is  very  ill-natured,  and  you  will  mind  it  only  so  far 
as  you  see  sense  in  it.  It  means  simply  that  if  Jean  Smail  be  a  very 
sensitive  or  quarrelsome  character,  and  at  the  same  time  without  tact, 
she  would  not  be  likely  to  prosper.  Send  me  word  by  Alick  what 
you  think.  I  need  hardly  add  that  a  servant  who  pleases  could  not 
possibly  find  a  better  place. 

"  Tell  your  mother,  with  my  love,  that  the  hen  she  has  sent  to  be 
eaten  has  laid  the  first  egg  of  our  whole  stock. 

"  God  bless  you.     More  next  time,  as  the  Doctor  says. 

"  Ever  affectionately  yours,        JANE  W.  CARLYLE." 

Meanwhile  the  affairs  of  the  poor  Doctor  were  coming  to  extrem- 
ity. Excellent  advice  might  be  given  from  Craigenputtock ;  but 
advice  now  was  all  that  could  be  afforded.  Even  his  magazine  art- 
icles, for  which  he  had  been  rebuked  for  writing,  could  not  be  sold, 
after  all.  It  was  time  clearly  for  a  deus  ex  machind  to  appear  and 
help  him.  Happily  there  was  a  deus  in  London  able  and  willing  to 
do  it  hi  the  shape  of  Jeffrey.  Though  he  had  failed  in  inducing 
Carlyle  to  accept  pecuniary  help  from  him,  he  could  not  be  prevent- 
ed from  assisting  his  brother,  and  giving  him  or  lending  him  some 
subvention  till  something  better  could  be  arranged.  Here,  too,  Car- 
lyle's  pride  took  alarm.  It  was  pain  and  humiliation  to  him  that 
any  member  of  his  family  should  subsist  on  the  bounty  of  a  stranger. 
He  had  a  just  horror  of  debt.  The  unlucky  John  himself  fell  in  for 
bitter  observations  upon  his  indolence.  John,  he  said,  should  come 
down  to  Scotland  and  live  with  him.  There  was  shelter  for  him 
and  food  enough,  such  as  it  was.  He  did  not  choose  that  a  brother 
of  his  should  be  degraded  by  accepting  obligations.  But  this  time 
Jeffrey  refused  to  listen.  It  might  be  very  wrong,  he  admitted,  for 
a  man  to  sit  waiting  by  the  pool  till  an  angel  stirred  the  water;  but 
it  was  not  necessarily  right,  therefore,  that  because  he  could  not  im- 
mediately find  employment  in  his  profession,  he  should  renounce  his 
chances  and  sit  down  to  eat  potatoes  and  read  German  at  Craigen- 

i  "Truish— emphatic  for  business'  sake.— T.  C." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  87 

puttock.  He  had  no  disposition  to  throw  away  money  without  a 
prospect  of  doing  good  with  it,  but  he  knew  no  better  use  to  which 
it  could  be  put  than  in  floating  an  industrious  man  over  the  shoals 
into  a  fair  way  of  doing  good  for  himself.  Even  towards  Carlyle, 
angry  as  he  had  been,  his  genuine  kindness  obliged  him  to  relent. 
If  only  he  would  not  be  so  impracticable  and  so  arrogant !  If  only 
he  could  be  persuaded  that  he  was  not  an  inspired,  being,  and  des- 
tined to  be  the  founder  of  a  new  religion!  But  a  solitary  life  and  a 
bad  stomach  had  so  spoiled  him,  all  but  the  heart,  that  he  despaired 
of  being  able  to  mend  him. 

Jeffrey  was  so  evidently  sincere  that  even  Carlyle  could  object  no 
longer  on  his  brother's  account.  "My  pride, "he  said,  "were  true 
pride — savage,  satanic,  and  utterly  damnable — if  it  offered  any  oppo- 
sition to  such  a  project  when  my  own  brother  and  his  future  happi- 
ness was  concerned."  Jeffrey  did  not  mean  to  confine  himself  to 
immediate  assistance  with  his  purse.  He  was  determined  to  find,  if 
possible,  some  active  work  for  John.  Nothing  could  be  done  imme- 
diately, for  he  was  obliged  to  leave  London  on  election  business. 
Help  in  money  at  least  was  to  be  given  as  soon  as  he  returned — Car- 
lyle using  the  interval  for  another  admonition. 

"Consider  your  situation  [he  wrote  to  his  brother  on  the  8th  of 
May]  with  unprejudiced,  fearless  mind,  listening  no  moment  to  the 
syren  melodies  of  hope,  which  are  only  melodies  of  sloth,  but  taking 
cold  prudence  and  calculation  with  you  at  every  step.  Nimm  Dich 
zusammen.  Gather  yourself  up.  Feel  your  feet  upon  the  rock  be- 
fore you  rest,  not  upon  the  quicksand,  where  resting  will  but  in- 
gulf you  deeper.  In  your  calculations,  too,  I  Avould  have  you 
throw  out  literature  altogether.  Indeed,  I  rather  believe  it  were  for 
your  good  if  you  quite  burned  your  magazine  pen  and  devoted  your- 
self exclusively  and  wholly  to  medicine,  and  nothing  but  medicine. 
Magazine  work  is  below  street-sweeping  as  a  trade.  Even  I  who 
have  no  other,  am  determined  to  try  by  all  methods  whether  it  is  not 
possible  to  abandon  it. " 

At  Craigenputtock  the  most  desperate  pinch  was  not  yet  over. 
One  slip  of  the  ' '  Literary  History"  came  out  in  the  April  number  of  the 
Edinburgh  in  the  form  of  a  review  of  Taylor's  "Historic  Survey  of 
German  Poetry,"1  but  payment  for  it  was  delayed  or  forgotten. 
Meanwhile  the  farm-horses  had  been  sold.  Old  Larry,  doing  double 
duty  on  the  road  and  in  the  cart,  had  laid  himself  down  and  died — 
died  from  overwork.  So  clever  was  Larry,  so  humorous,  that  it  was 
as  if  the  last  human  friend  had  been  taken  away.  The  pony  had 
been  parted  with  also,  though  it  was  recovered  afterwards;  and 
before  payment  came  from  Napier  for  the  article  they  were  in 
real  extremity.  Alick  by  his  four  years  of  occupation  was  out  of 

>"  Miscellanies,  "voLiii. 


88  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

pocket  300Z.  These  were  the  saddest  days  which  Carlyle  had 
ever  known. 

The  summer  came,  and  the  Dunscore  moors  grew  beautiful  in  the 
dry  warm  season.  "  So  pure  was  the  air,  the  foliage,  the  herbage, 
and  everything  round  him,"  that  he  said,  if  Arcadianly  given,  he 
"  might  fancy  the  yellow  buttercups  were  asphodel,  and  the  whole 
scene  a  portion  of  Hades — some  outskirt  of  the  Elysian  Fields,  the 
very  perfection  of  solitude. "  Between  the  softness  of  the  scene  and 
the  apparent  hopelessness  of  his  prospects,  Carlyle's  own  heart  seems 
for  a  moment  to  have  failed.  He  wrote  to  Jeffrey  in  extreme  de- 
pression, as  if  he  felt  he  had  lost  the  game,  and  that  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  turn  cynic  and  live  and  die  in  silence.  The  letter  I 
have  not  seen,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  it  has  been  preserved; 
but  Jeffrey's  answer  shows  what  the  tone  of  it  must  have  been. 
"  The  cynic  tub,"  "  the  primitive  lot  of  man,"  Jeff rey  frankly  called 
an  unseemly  and  unworthy  romance.  If  Carlyle  did  not  care  for 
himself,  he  ought  to  think  of  his  young  and  delicate  wife,  whose 
great  heart  and  willing  martyrdom  would  make  the  sacrifice  more 
agonizing  in  the  end.  It  was  not  necessary.  He  should  have  aid — 
effective  aid ;  and  if  he  pleased  he  might  repay  it  some  day  ten  times 
over.  Something  should  be  found  for  him  to  do  neither  unglorious 
nor  unprofitable.  He  was  fit  for  many  things,  and  there  were  more 
tasks  in  the  world  fit  for  him  than  he  was  willing  to  believe,  He 
complimented  him  on  his  last  article  in  the  Edinburgh.  Empson 
had  praised  it  warmly.  Macaulay  and  several  others,  who  had 
laughed  at  his  "  Signs  of  the  Times,"  had  been  struck  with  its  force 
and  originality.  If  he  would  but  give  himself  fair  play,  if  he  could  but 
believe  that  men  might  differ  from  him  without  being  in  damnable 
error,  he  would  make  his  way  to  the  front  without  difficulty.  If 
Jeffrey  had  been  the  most  tender  of  brothers,  he  could  not  have 
written  more  kindly.  Carlyle,  if  one  of  the  proudest,  was  also  one 
of  the  humblest  of  mortals.  He  replied  "that  he  was  ready  to  work 
at  any  honest  thing  whatsoever;"  "  that  he  did  not  see  that  litera- 
ture could  support  an  honest  man  otherwise  than  a  la  Diogenes." 
"In  this  fashion  he  meant  to  experiment,  if  nothing  else  could  be 
found,  which,  however,  through  all  channels  of  investigation  he  was 
minded  to  try  for." 

It  is  not  easy  to  see  precisely  what  kind  of  employment  Jeffrey 
had  really  in  view  for  Carlyle.  At  one  time,  no  doubt,  he  had 
thought  of  recommending  him  strongly  to  the  government.  At  an- 
other he  had  confessedly  thought  of  him  as  his  own  successor  on  the 
Edinburgh  Review.  But  he  had  been  frightened  at  Carlyle's  Rad- 
icalism. He  had  been  offended  at  his  arrogance.  Perhaps  he  thought 
that  it  indicated  fundamental  unsoundness  of  mind.  He  little  con- 
jectured that  the  person  for  whom  he  was  concerning  himself  was 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  89 

really  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  Europe,  destined  to  make 
a  deeper  impression  upon  his  contemporaries  than  any  thinker  then 
alive.  This  was  not  to  be  expected;  but  it  must  be  supposed  that 
he  was  wishing  rather  to  try  the  sincerity  of  Carlyle's  professions 
than  that  he  was  really  serious  in  what  he  now  suggested.  He  gave 
a  list  of  possible  situations:  a  clerkship  at  the  Excise  or  the  Board 
of  Longitude  or  the  Record  Office,  or  librarianship  at  the  British 
.Museum,  or  some  secretaryship  in  a  merchant's  house  of  business. 
He  asked  him  which  of  these  he  would  detest  the  least,  that  he  might 
knov^  before  he  applied  for  it. 

Poor  Carlyle !  It  was  a  bitter  draught  which  was  being  commend- 
ed to  his  lips.  But  he  was  very  meek;  he  answered  that  he  would 
gratefully  accept  any  one  of  them :  but  even  such  posts  as  these  he 
thought,  in  his  despondency,  to  be  beyond  his  reach.  He  was  like 
the  pilgrim  in  the  valley  of  humiliation.  "I  do  not  expect,"  he 
told  his  mother,  ' '  that  he  will  be  able  to  accomplish  anything  for 
me.  I  must  even  get  through  life  without  a  trade,  always  in  pov- 
erty, as  far  better  men  have  done.  Our  want  is  the  want  of  faith. 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  not  poor,  though  he  had  not  where  to  lay  his 
head.  Socrates  was  rich  enough.  I  have  a  deep,  irrevocable,  all- 
comprehending  Ernulphus  curse  to  read  upon  Gigmanity :  that  is  the 
Baal-worship  of  our  time." 

Though  brought  down  so  low,  he  could  not  entirely  love  the  hand 
which  had  made  him  feel  where  he  stood  in  the  world's  estimation. 
His  unwillingness  that  John  should  accept  money  from  Jeffrey  was 
not  removed. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigenputtock :  July  7,  1831. 

"Help  towards  work  I  would  solicit  from  any  reasonable  man. 
Mere  pecuniary  help  for  its  own  sake  is  a  thing  one  should  always 
be  cautious  of  accepting.  Few  are  worthy  to  give  it,  still  fewer  ca- 
pable of  worthily  receiving  it.  Such  is  the  way  of  the  time  we  live 
in.  Meanwhile,  relax  not  your  own  efforts  for  a  moment.  Think, 
project,  investigate.  You  are  like  a  soul  struggling  towards  birth ; 
the  skilfullest  accoucheur  (pardon  the  horrible  figure)  can  but  help 
the  process.  Here,  too,  the  Caesarean  operation,  as  I  have  seen,  is 
oftenest  fatal  to  the  foetus.  In  short,  Jack,  there  lie  the  rudiments 
of  a  most  sufficient  man  and  doctor  in  thee;  but  wise  will  must  first 
body  them  forth.  Oh,  I  know  the  thrice-cursed  state  you  are  in — 
hopeless,  grim,  death-defying  thoughts;  a  world  shut  against  you  by 
inexpugnable  walls.  Rough  it  out;  toil  it  out;  other  way  of  mak- 
ing a  man  have  I  never  seen.  One  day  you  will  see  it  all  to  have 
been  needed,  and  your  highest,  properly  your  only  blessing. 

"  I  must  not  take  all  your  encomiums  about  my  scriptorial  genius. 
Nevertheless,  I  am  coming  up  to  look  about  me,  and  if  possible  even 
to  establish  myself  in  London.  This  place  is  as  good  as  done ;  not 
even  the  last  advantage,  that  of  living  in  any  pecuniary  sufficiency, 


90  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

for  I  never  was  as  poor.  Naso, '  the  blockhead,  has  neither  paid  me 
nor  written  to  me.  But  we  are  in  no  strait.  I  shall  even  raise  the 
wind  for  a  London  voyage  without  much  difficulty.  I  can  write  to 
Naso,  if  he  will  not  to  me.  I  have  some  thoughts  of  cutting  him 
and  his  calcined  caput  mortuum — dead  men's  ashes  of  Whiggisrn — 
at  any  rate.  But  fair  and  soft.  I  now  see  through  Teufel,  write  at 
him  literally  night  and  day,  yet  cannot  be  done  within — say  fifteen 
days.  Then  I  should  like  to  have  a  week's  rest,  for  I  am  somewhat 
in  the  inflammatory  vein.  As  to  the  Teufel  itself,  whereof  122  solid 
pages  lie  written  off,  and  some  40  above  half  ready  are  to  follow,  I 
cannot  pretend  to  prophecy.  My  humor  is  of  the  stoical  sort  as 
concerns  it.  Sometimes  I  think  it  goodish,  at  other  times  bad ;  at 
most  times  the  best  I  can  make  it  here.  A  strange  book  all  men  will 
admit  it  to  be.  Partially  intended  to  be  a  true  book  I  know  it  to  be. 
It  shall  be  printed  if  there  is  a  possibility.  You  anticipate  me  in 
the  suggestion  of  lodgings.  There  must  I  live,  and  nowhere  as  a 
guest.  Dreitdgiger  Oast  wird  eine  Last.  A  guest  after  three  days  is 
a  burden.  Have  you  no  little  bedroom  even  where  you  are ;  and 
one  little  parlor  would  serve  us  both.  I  care  about  nothing  but  a 
bed  where  I  can  sleep.  That  is  to  say,  where  are  no  bugs  and  no 
noises  about  midnight;  for  I  am  pretty  invincible  when  once  fairly 
sealed.  The  horrors  of  nerves  are  somewhat  laid  in  me,  I  think ;  yet 
the  memory  of  them  is  frightfully  vivid.  For  the  rest,  my  visit  to 
London  is  antigigmanic  from  heart  to  skin.  The  venerable  old  man 
(Goethe)  sends  me  ten  days  ago  the  noblest  letter  I  ever  read.2 
Scarcely  could  I  read  it  without  tears.  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the 
righteous ;  let  my  last  end  be  like  his.  Goethe  is  well  and  serene. 
Another  box  on  the  way  hither.  We  all  salute  you.  T.  C." 

The  picture  of  Carlyle's  condition — poor,  almost  without  hope; 
the  companions  which  had  made  the  charm  of  his  solitude  (his 
brother  Alick,  his  horse  Larry)  all  gone  or  going,  the  place  itself 
disenchanted — has  now  a  peculiar  interest,  for  it  was  under  these 
conditions  that  "Sartor  Resartus"  was  composed.  A  wild  sorrow 
sounds  through  its  sentences  like  the  wind  over  the  strings  of  an 
seolian-harp.  Pride,  too,  at  intervals  fiercely  defiant,  yet  yielding 
to  the  inevitable,  as  if  the  stern  lesson  had  done  its  work.  Carlyle's 
pride  needed  breaking.  His  reluctance  to  allow  his  brother  to  ac- 
cept help  from  Jeffrey  had  only  plunged  him  into  worse  perplexities. 
John  had  borrowed  money,  hoping  that  his  articles  would  enable 
him  to  repay  it.  The  articles  had  not  been  accepted,  and  the  hope 
had  proved  a  quicksand.  Other  friends  were  willing  to  lend  what 
was  required,  but  he  would  take  nothing  more ;  and  the  only  re- 
source left  was  to  draw  again  upon  Carlyle's  almost  exhausted  funds. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  Craigenputtock :  July  12,  1831. 

"I  wrote  last  Thursday  under  cover  to  the  Lord-advocate,  which 
letter  you  have  before  this  received.  However,  not  knowing  the 

1  Napier,  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  *  Not  to  be  found. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  91 

right  address,  I  was  obliged  to  address  the  M.P.  at  'London,'  so 
that  some  delay  may  have  occurred.  Alick  and  1 1  were  down  at 
the  kirk  on  Sunday.  I  went  for  the  first  time  these  many  months, 
on  account  of  the  Irish  collection ;  and  there  your  letter  was  lying 
which  demands  a  quite  instantaneous  reply.  I  regretted  greatly  that 
no  device  of  mine  could  take  effect  sooner  than  to-night ;  but,  as  if  it 
had  been  some  relief,  I  made  ready  another  letter  for  your  behoof  (of 
which  anon)  that  very  night,  and  have  had  it  lying  here  sealed  ever 
since.  It  was  a  letter  to  Bowring,  requesting  him  to  pay  the  Nibe- 
lungen  article 2  forthwith  into  your  hands.  I  did  this  as  courteous- 
ly as  possible,  and  imagine  he  will  not  fail.  However,  a  day  or  two 
may  elapse;  and  in  the  meantime  you  have  nothing.  Had  I  been  at 
Dumfries  I  would  have  got  a  Bank  of  England  note;  but  there  is 
none  such  here :  we  have  not  even  a  better  than  this  of  one  pound, 
though  I  tried  to  borrow  a  fire  in  vain.  So  you  must  receive  it  as 
our  poor  n&n  plus  ultra.  Take  it  to  William  Hamilton  in  Cheap- 
side.  Say  your  brother  was  sending  you  money,  and  requested  that 
he  would  give  you  a  sovereign  for  this.  If  Bowring  do  not  send 
before  it  is  done,  I  think  you  may  call  on  him.  I  suppose  there  will 
be  three  sheets,  and  their  pay  is  only  ten  guineas.  Take  off  it  what 
you  have  need  of  till  I  come.  Write  also  a  word  on  the  papers  to 
say  how  it  is,3  and  how  you  are.  I  have  had  you  little  out  of  my 
head  since  Sunday  last. 

' '  Shocking  as  your  situation  is,  however,  we  all  here  agree  that  it  is 
more  hopeful  than  we  have  ever  yet  had  clear  argument  to  think  it. 
Thank  God  you  have  done  no  wrong.  Your  conscience  is  free,  and 
you  yourself  are  there.  We  all  reckon  that  your  conduct  in  that 
matter  of  Jeffrey's  20?.  was  entitled  to  be  called  heroic.  Sooner  or 
later,  my  dear  brother,  it  must  have  come  to  this — namely,  that  your 
own  miscellaneous  industry  could  not  support  you  in  London,  and 
that  you  ceased  to  borrow,  better,  we  say,  now  than  never.  Bear 
up ;  front  it  bravely.  There  are  friendly  eyes  upon  you,  and  hearts 
praying  for  you.  Were  we  once  together  it  will  be  peremptorily 
necessary  to  consider  how  the  land  lies  and  what  is  to  be  done.  In 
all  situations  (put  of  Tophet)  there  is  a  duty,  and  our  highest  blessed- 
ness lies  in  doing  it.  I  know  not  whether  Jeffrey  may  be  able  to  do 
anything  for  you.  He  speaks  to  me  rather  more  hopefully  than  he 
seems  to  have  done  to  you. 

"I  shall  study  to  be  "with  you  about  the  beginning  of  August.  I 
have  written,  as  you  suggested,  to  Napier  for  a  note  to  Longman, 
also  for  payment  of  what  he  owes  me.  I  am  struggling  forward 
with  Dreck,  sick  enough,  but  not  in  bad  heart.  I  think  the  world 
will  no  wise  be  enraptured  with  this  medicinal  Detil's-dung ;  that 
the  critical  republic  will  cackle  vituperatively,  or  perhaps  maintain 
total  silence — a.  la  bonne  heure  !  It  was  the  best  I  had  in  me.  What 
God  has  given  me,  that  the  Devil  shall  not  take  away.  Be  of  good 
cheer,  my  brother.  Behave  wisely,  and  continue  to  trust  in  God. 

1  Alick  Carlyle,  unable  to  find  another  farm  or  occupation,  had  come  back  for  a  time, 
and  was  living  in  a  small  room  in  the  yard  at  Craigeuputtock. 

8  I.e.,  the  money  due  for  It. 

*  The  Carlyles  communicated  with  one  another  by  cipher  on  newspapers,  to  save 
postage. 


02  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

No  doubt  He  sent  you  hither  to  work  out  his  will.  It  is  man's  mis- 
sion and  blessedness  could  he  but  rightly  walk  in  it.  Write  to  me. 
Trust  in  me.  Ever  your  brother,  T.  CARLYLE." 

Once  more,  on  the  17th  of  the  same  month: 

"I  am  laboring  at  Teufel  with  considerable  impetuosity,  and  cal- 
culate that,  unless  accidents  intervene,  I  may  be  actually  ready  to 
get  under  way  at  the  end  of  the  month.  But  there  will  not  be  a 
minute  to  lose.  I  sometimes  think  the  book  will  prove  a  kind  of 
medicinal  assafcetida  for  the  pudding  stomach  of  England,  and  pro- 
duce new  secretions  there.  Jacta  est  alea!  I  will  speak  out  what 
is  in  me,  though  far  harder  chances  threatened.  I  have  no  other 
trade,  no  other  strength  or  portion  in  this  earth.  Be  it  so.  Hourly 
you  come  into  my  head,  sitting  in  your  lone  cabin  in  that  human 
chaos  with  mehr  als  ein  Schilling  and  bread-and-water  for  your  din- 
ner; and  I  cannot  say  but  I  respect  you  more  and  love  you  more 
than  ever  I  did.  Courage!  courage!  TapferJceit,  'deliberate  valor,' 
is  God's  highest  gift,  and  comes  not  without  trial  to  any.  Times  will 
mend ;  or,  if  times  never  mend,  then,  in  the  Devil's  name,  let  them 
stay  as  they  are,  or  grow  worse,  and  we  will  mend.  I  know  but  one 
true  wretchedness — the  want  of  work  (want  of  wages  is  comparative- 
ly trifling),  which  want,  however,  in  such  a  world  as  this  planet  of 
ours,  cannot  be  permanent  unless  we  continue  blind  therein.  I  must 
to  my  Dreck,  for  the  hours  go.  Gott  mit  Dir  !" 

It  was  a  sad,  stern  time  to  these  struggling  brothers ;  and  it  is  with 
a  feeling  like  what  the  Scots  mean  by  woe  that  one  reads  the  letters 
that  Jeffrey  was  writing  during  the  worst  of  it  to  Mrs.  Carlyle.  He 
had  done  what  he  was  allowed  to  do.  Perhaps  he  thought  they  un- 
derstood their  own  matters  best;  and  it  was  not  easy  to  thrust  his 
services  on  so  proud  a  person  as  Mrs.  Carlyle's  husband,  when  they 
were  treated  so  cavalierly;  but  he  did  not  choose  to  let  the  corre- 
spondence fall,  and  to  her  he  continued  to  write  lightly  and  brillantly 
on  London  gayeties  and  his  own  exploits  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
The  tone  of  these  letters  must  have  been  out  of  harmony  with  the 
heavy  hearts  at  Craigenputtock,  but  he  was  still  acting  as  a  real 
friend,  and  remained  on  the  watch  for  opportunities  to  be  of  use,  if 
not  to  Carlyle  himself,  yet  at  least  to  his  brother. 

So  July  ran  out,  and  "  Sartor"  was  finished,  and  Carlyle  prepared 
to  start,  with  the  MS.  and  the  yet  unpublished  sections  of  the  "Lite- 
rary History "  in  his  portmanteau,  to  find  a  publisher  for  one  or 
both  of  them  ;  to  find  also,  if  possible,  some  humble  employment  to 
which  his  past  work  might  have  recommended  him ;  to  launch  him- 
self, at  any  rate,  into  the  great  world,  and  light  on  something  among 
its  floating  possibilities  to  save  him  from  drowning,  which  of  late 
had  seemed  likely  to  be  his  fate.  With  Craigenputtock  as  a  home 
he  believed  that  he  had  finally  done.  The  farm  which  was  to  have 
helped  him  to  subsist  had  proved  a  failure,  and  had  passed  to  stran- 
gers. Living  retired  in  those  remote  moorlands,  he  had  experienced 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  93 

too  painfully  that  from  articles  in  reviews  he  could  count  on  no  reg- 
ular revenue,  while  the  labor  lost  in  the  writing  led  to  nothing. 
Work  of  such  a  kind,  if  it  was  to  be  profitable,  must  become  an  in- 
tellectual prostitution ;  and  to  escape  from  this  was  the  chief  object 
of  his  London  journey.  He  had  so  far  swallowed  his  pride  as  to  ac- 
cept, after  all,  a  loan  of  501.  from  Jeffrey  for  his  expenses.  The 
sums  due  to  him  would  provide  food  and  lodging  during  his  stay. 
Such  hopes  as  he  still  may  have  entertained  of  the  realization  of  his 
old  dream  of  making  a  mark  in  the  world,  lay  in  the  MS.  of  "  Sar- 
tor." "  It  is  a  work  of  genius,  dear,"  Mrs.  Carlyle  said  to  him,  as 
she  finished  the  last  page — she  whose  judgment  was  unerring,  who 
flattered  no  one,  and  least  of  all  her  husband.  A  work  of  genius! 
Yes;  but  of  genius  so  original  that  a  conventional  world,  measuring 
by  established  rules,  could  not  fail  to  regard  it  as  a  monster.  Orig- 
inality, from  the  necessity  of  its  nature,  offends  at  its  first  appear- 
ance. Certain  ways  of  acting,  thinking,  and  speaking  are  in  posses- 
sion of  the  field,  and  claim  to  be  the  only  legitimate  ways.  A  man 
of  genius  strikes  into  a  road  of  his  own,  and  the  first  estimate  of 
such  a  man  has  been,  is,  and  always  will  be,  unfavorable.  Carlyle 
knew  that  he  had  done  his  best,  and  he  knew  the  worth  of  it.  He 
had  yet  to  learn  how  hard  a  battle  still  lay  ahead  of  him  before  that 
worth  could  be  recognized  by  others.  Jeffrey  compared  him  to  Par- 
son Adams  going  to  seek  his  fortune  with  his  manuscript  in  his 
pocket.  Charles  Buller,  more  hopeful,  foretold  gold  and  glory. 
Jeffrey,  at  any  rate,  had  made  it  possible  for  him  to  go;  and,  let  it 
be  added,  John  Carlyle,  notwithstanding  his  struggles  to  avoid  obli- 
gations, had  been  forced  to  accept  pecuniary  help  from  the  same 
kind  hand. 

"Night  before  going  [he  wrote  in  1866],  how  I  still  remember 
it !  I  was  lying  on  my  back  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room.  She 
sitting  by  the  table  late  at  night,  packing  all  done,  I  suppose.  Her 
words  had  a  guise  of  sport,  but  were  profoundly  plaintive  in  mean- 
ing. '  About  to  part ;  and  who  knows  for  how  long,  and  what  may 
have  come  in  the  interim. '  This  was  her  thought,  and  she  was  evi- 
dently much  out  of  spirits.  'Courage,  dear — only  for  a  month,'  I 
would  say  to  her,  in  some  form  or  other.  I  went  next  morning  early, 
Alick  driving;  embarked  at  Glencaple  Quay.  Voyage  as  far  as 
Liverpool  still  vivid  to  me.  The  rest,  till  arrival  in  London,  gone — 
mostly  extinct." 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A.D.    1831.        ^ET.    36. 

Extracts  from  Carlyle's  Note-book,  begun  in  London,  1831. 
"August  4. — Left   Craigenputtock   and    my    kind    little    wife, 
Alick  driving  me,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morni^.     Shipped  at  Glen- 


94  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

caple;  hazy  day;  saw  Esbie  in  the  steerage;  talked  mysticism  with 
him  during  six  weary  hours  we  had  to  stay  at  Whitehaven.  Re-em- 
barkment  there  amidst  bellowing  and  tumult  and  fiddling  unutterable, 
all  like  a  spectral  vision.  'She  is  not  there.'  St.  Bees  Head.  Man 
with  the  nose.  Sleep  in  the  steamboat  cabin :  confusion  worse 
confounded.  Morning  views  of  Cheshire  —  the  Rock,  Liverpool, 
and  steamboats. 

"August  5,9.30m  the  morning. — Land  at  Liverpool;  all  abed 
at  Maryland  Street.1  Boy  Alick"  accompanies  me  over  Liverpool. 
Exchange,  dome :  dim  view  there.  Dust,  toil,  cotton-bags,  hampers, 
repairing  ships,  disloading  stones.  Carson  a  hash :  melancholy  body 
of  the  name  of  Sloan.  Wifekin's  assiduity  in  caring  for  me. 

"August  6  (Saturday). — Taken  to  one  Johnstone,  a  frenchified 
Lockerby  man,  who  leads  me  to  '  Change.  Place  in  '  Independent 
Tally  Ho, '  sir  !  See  George  Johnstone,  surgeon,  whom  I  had  un- 
earthed the  night  before.  Patient  of  his.  He  dines  with  us.  Walk 
on  the  Terrace,  near  the  Cemetery.  Have  seen  the  steam-coaches  in 
the  morning.  Liverpool  a  dismembered  aggregate  of  streets  and 
sand-pits.  Market !  hubbub ! 

"Augusts. — Go  out  to  find  Esbie.  He  calls  on  me.  Confused 
family  dinner;  ditto  tea.  G.  Johnstone  again;  talk;  to  bed. 

"August  9. — Off  on  Monday  morning.  Shipped  through  the 
Mersey;  coached  through  Eastham,  Chester,  Overton  (in  Wales), 
Ellesmere,  Shrewsbury,  Wolverhampton,  Birmingham;  attempt  at 
tea  there.  Discover,  not  without  laughter,  the  villany  of  the  Liver- 
pool coach-bookers.  Henley-in-Arden.  Stratford-on-Avon  (horses 
lost  there).  Get  to  sleep.  Oxford  at  three  in  the  morning.  Out 
again,  there;  chill  but  pleasant.  Henley,  Maidenhead,  etc.  Arrive, 
full  of  sulphur,  at  White  Horse  Cellar,  Piccadilly.  Dismount  at  the 
Regent  Circus,  and  am  wheeled  (not  whirled)  hither 3  about  half- past 
ten.  Poor  Jack  waiting  all  the  while  at  the  Angel,  Islington.  Talk 
together  when  he  returns;  dine  at  an  eating-house  among  French- 
men, one  of  whom  ceases  eating  to  hear  me  talk  of  the  Saint-Simoni- 
ans.  Leave  my  card  at  the  Lord-advocate's,  with  promise  to  call 
next  morning.  Sulphurous  enough." 

These  extracts  supply  the  lost  places  in  Carlyle's  memory,  and 
serve  as  a  frame  into  which  to  fit  the  following  letter  to  his  wife. 
The  intense  affection  which  he  felt  for  her  is  visible  in  every  line. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Craigenputtock. 

"6  Woburn  Buildings,  Tavistock  Square:  August  11,1831. 

"Dearest  and  Wife, — I  have  got  a  frank  for  you  and  will  write 
from  the  heart  whatever  is  in  the  heart.  A  blessing  it  was  that  you 
made  me  give  such  a  promise;  for  I  feel  that  an  hour's  speech  in 
speaking  with  my  own  will  do  me  infinite  good.  It  is  very  sweet 

1  Liverpool  home  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  uncle  John — the  uncle  who  was  made  bankrupt 
through  a  fraudulent  partner,  and  afterwards  paid  all  his  creditors  in  full. 

'  John's  son. 

3  To  6  Woburn  Buildings,  Tavistock  Square— the  house  of  George  Irving,  Edward 
Irving's  brother,  where  Jolh  Carlyle  lodged. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  95 

in  the  midst  of  this  soul-confusing  phantasmagoria  to  know  that  I 
have  a  fixed  possession  elsewhere;  that  my  own  Jeannie  is  thinking 
of  me,  loving  me;  that  her  heart  is  no  dream  like  all  the  rest  of  it. 
Oh,  love  me,  my  dearest — always  love  me.  I  am  richer  with  thee  than 
the  whole  world  could  make  me  otherwise. 

"But  to  the  practical.  Expect  no  connected  or  even  intelligible 
narrative  of  all  the  chaotic  sights,  sounds,  movements,  counter- 
movements,  I  have  experienced  since  your  lips  parted  from  mine  on 
our  threshold — still  less  of  all  the  higher  chaotic  feelings  that  have 
danced  their  wild  torch-dance  within  me.  For  the  present  I  must 
content  myself,  like  Sir  William  Hamilton,  with  '  stating  a  fact  or 
two.'  Understand  then,  Goodykin,.  that  after  infinite  confusion,  I 
arrived  at  Liverpool  about  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  I 
left  you,  quite  sleepless,  and  but  for  your  dinner  (which  I  parted 
with  a  certain  'Esbie,'  whom  Alick  knows  well,  whom  I  found 
in  the  boat  and  preached  mysticism  to  for  six  hours)  quite  victual- 
less.  The  Maryland  Street  people '  were  not  up,  but  soon  rose  and 
received  me  well.  Delightful  it  was  to  get  into  a  room  and — have 
my  face  washed ;  and  then  on  opening  my  trunk  to  find  everywhere 
traces  of  my  good  '  coagitor's ' 2  care  and  love.  The  very  jujube  box 
with  its  worsted  and  darning-needle  did  not  escape  me;  it  was  so 
beautiful  I  could  almost  have  cried  over  it.  Heaven  reward  thee, 
my  clear-headed,  warm-hearted,  dearest  little  Screamikin! 

' '  John  Welsh  was  the  same  substantial,  honest  fellow  whom  we 
have  always  known  him:  he  and  I  got  along,  as  we  always  do, 
beautifully  together. 

"The  Auntie  was  loud,  talkative,  argumentative,  infinitely  bus- 
tling, but  also  very  assiduous  in  showing  me  kindness.  To  make  a 
long  tale  short,  I  left  them  on  Sunday  morning  at  half -past  seven 
with  many  blessings  and  two  cups  of  sufficient  coffee,  which  the 
good  housewife  would  not  be  prevented  from  making  me  at  that 
early  hour. 

"  Which  last  hospitality,  I  may  well  say,  was  doubly  blest;  for  it 
so  turned  out  this  was  the  only  refection  I  received  till  my  arrival 
in  London  on  the  following  day  about  ten  o'clock.  I  must  except  a 
penny  loaf  snatched  from  the  landlady  of  an  inn  in  Shropshire,  and 
a  cup  of  hot  sugar-and-water  (as  the  whole  time  proved  only  fifteen 
minutes),  for  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  paying  half  a  crown  in 
the  village  of  Birmingham.  How  all  this  happened,  and  I  was  sent 
circulating  over  the  whole  West  of  England,  set  my  watch  by  the 
Shrewsbury  clock,  and  saw  portions  of  Wales,  and  had  the  delight- 
fullest  drive,  only  no  victual,  or  knowledge  by  what  route  I  was 
bound — all  this  depended  on  the  art  of  the  Liverpool  coach  agents, 
at  which,  villanous  as  it  was,  I  could  not  help  laughing  when,  after 
leaving  Birmingham,  I  came  to  see  into  the  mystery.  There  are 
men  in  Liverpool  who  will  book  you  to  go  by  any  coach  you  like, 
and  to  enter  London  at  any  place  and  hour  you  like,  and  then  send 
you  thither  by  any  coach  or  combination  of  coaches  they  like.  I 
was  booked  for  a  certain  imaginary  'Tally  Ho,'  went  by  seven  suc- 

i  Mr.  John  Welsh  and  his  family. 

*  His  wife.    Somebody's  pronunciation  of  "coadjutor." 


06  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

cessive  vehicles,  none  of  which  had  that  name,  and  entered  London 
three  hours  later,  and  by  quite  the  opposite  side  than  I  had  appoint- 
ed John  to  wait  at.  Sulphurous  enough.  However,  I  have  now 
had  sleep  and  am  well.  The  only  mischief  done  was  tlw  breaking 
of  the  eggs,  which,  however,  the  warehouseman  has  now  made  good 
again.  So  do  not  grieve  thyself,  dearest.  The  broken  eggs  are 
dearer  to  me  than  the  whole  ones  would  have  been;  there  is  a 
pathos  in  them,  and  I  love  Jeannie  more. 

"With  little  difficulty  I  conveyed  myself  and  luggage  to  Jack's 
old  lodgings,  and  there  learnt  his  actual  address  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, and,  to  my  astonishment,  in  the  upper  floor  of  George  Ir- 
ving's  house,  who  also  lets  lodgings.  It  is  a  very  beautiful  sitting- 
room,  an  immense  bedroom  above  (and  John  sleeps  with  George), 
for  which  we  are  to  pay  25s.  weekly.  Quiet  and  airy,  and  among 
known  people.  All  is  right  in  this  respect. 

"The  first  day  I  did  little;  yet  walked  over  to  the  Duke's, 'found 
him  out,  and  left  my  card  with  a  promise  for  next  morning.  It  is 
between  two  and  three  miles  from  this.  On  arriving  there  I  was 
asked  my  name,  and  then  instantly  ushered  in  and  welcomed  in  their 
choicest  mood  by  the  whole  family.  Mrs.  Jeffrey  was  as  kind  as 
ever;  Charlotte,  too,  came  simpering  in,  and  looked  as  if  she  would 
let  me  live.  The  Advocate  retired  and  re-entered  with  your  picture, 
which  was  shown  round;  for  little,  I  could  have  grat  over  it.  After 
a  time,  by  some  movements  I  got  the  company  dispersed,  and  the 
Advocate  by  himself,  and  began  to  take  counsel  with  him  about 
'Teufelsdrockh.'  He  thought  Murray,  in  spite  of  the  Radicalism, 
would  be  the  better  publisher;  to  him,  accordingly,  he  gave  me  a 
line,  saying  that  I  was  a  genius,  and  would  likely  become  eminent; 
further,  that  he  (Jeffrey)  would  like  well  to  confer  with  him  about 
that  book.  I  directly  set  off  with  this  to  Albemarle  Street;  found 
Murray  out;  returned  afterwards  and  found  him  in,  gave  an  outline 
of  the  book,  at  which  the  Arimaspian  smiled;  stated,  also,  that  I  had 
nothing  else  to  do  here  but  the  getting  of  it  published,  and  was,  above 
all,  anxious  that  his  decision  should  be  given  soon.  He  answered 
that  he  would  begin  this  very  afternoon,  and  that  on  Wednesday 
next  he  would  give  me  an  answer.  I  then  went  off;  despatched  my 
'  Teufelsdrockh '  with  your  tape  round  him.  Of  the  probable  issue 
I  can  form  no  conjecture:  only  Murray  seemed  to  know  me,  and  I 
dare  say  is  very  anxious  to  keep  well  with  Ministers,  so  will  risk 
what  he  dares. 

"Napier's  letter  is  also  come,  with  a  note  to  Rces,  which  I  think 
I  shall  perhaps  not  deliver  (perhaps,  too,  I  may)  till  after  next 
Wednesday. 

' '  Badams  called  here  an  hour  after  I  came :  he  brought  his  wife 
next  day.  I  was  out,  but  saw  them  in  the  evening.  She  is  a  good 
woman,  and  good-looking,  whom  I  think  you  will  like.  He  is  in  no 
good  way,  I  doubt;  yet  not  without  hope.  I  have  also  seen  Mrs. 
Montagu;  talked  longer  with  her  than  I  shall  speedily  do  again,  for 
she  seems  to  me  embittered  and  exasperated ;  and  what  have  I  to  do 
with  her  quarrels?  Jack  she  seems  positively  to  have  cut,  because 

1  Jeffrey's  house  in  Jcnnyn  Street. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  97 

he  would  not  turn  with  her  in  a  day  from  a  transcendental  apotheo- 
sis of  Badarns  to  excommunication.  All  things  go  round  and  round. 
For  me,  as  I  told  her,  I  would  continue  to  love  all  parties  and  pity 
all,  and  hate  or  quarrel  with  none. 

"Jack  stands  glowering  o'er  me,  as  you  know  is  his  wont.  Tell 
Alick  all  my  news ;  read  him  the  letter  (so  much  of  it  as  you  can 
read),  and  give  to  every  one  my  kindest  brotherly  love." 

"August  15. 

' '  Your  kind  precious  letter  came  to  me  on  Friday  like  a  cup  of 
water  in  the  hot  desert.  It  is  all  like  yourself:  so  clear,  precise, 
loving,  and  true  to  the  death.  I  see  poor  Craigenputtock  through  it, 
and  the  best  little  Goodykin  sitting  there,  hourly  meditating  on  me 
and  watching  my  return.  Oh,  I  am  very  rich  were  I  without  a  penny 
in  the  world!  But  the  Herzen's  Goody  must  not  fret  herself  and 
torment  her  poor  sick  head.  I  will  be  back  to  her;  not  an  hour  will 
I  lose.  Heaven  knows  the  sun  shines  not  on  the  spot  that  could  be 
pleasant  to  me  where  she  were  not.  So  be  of  comfort,  my  Jeannie, 
and  with  thy  own  sweet  orderly  spirit  make  calmness  out  of  confu- 
sion, and  the  dawn  (as  it  does  in  some  climates)  to  shine  through  the 
whole  night  till  it  be  morning  and  the  sun  once  more  embraces  his 
fair  kind  earth.  For  the  rest,  thou  canst  not  be  too  '  Theresa-like;' ' 
it  is  this  very  fidelity  to  practical  nature  that  makes  the  charm  of 
the  picture.  .  .  . 

"I  am  getting  a  little  more  composed  in  this  whirlpool,  and  can 
tell  you  better  how  it  whirls. 

"Oil  Friday  morning,  the  day  after  I  wrote,  Jack  walked  down 
with  me  to  Longmans,  and  I  delivered  Napier's  note  to  a  staid, 
cautious,  business-like  man,  who  read  it  with  an  approving  smile, 
listened  to  my  description  of  the  '  German  Literary  History '  with 
the  same  smile  in  a  faced  state,  and  then  (like  a  barbarian  as  he  was) 
'  declined  the  article. '  He  was  polite  as  possible,  but  seemed  deter- 
mined on  risking  nothing.  If  Murray  fail  me  (as  Wednesday  will 
probably  show),  I  have  calculated  that  it  will  be  hardly  worth  while 
to  offer  these  people  Dreck,  but  that  I  must  try  some  other  course 
with  him.  I  hope  not  at  all,  therefore  hardly  think  that  Murray  will 
accept  (so  lucky  were  it),  and  am  already  looking  out  what  I  can  for 
other  resources  in  the  worst  issue.  Dreck  shall  be  printed  if  a  man 
in  London  will  do  it;  if  not  with,  then  without,  'fee  or  reward.'  I 
even  conjecture  still  that  this  is  the  time  for  him:  everybody  I  see 
participates  in  the  feeling  that  society  is  nigh  done;  that  she  is  a 
phoenix,  perhaps,  not  so  many  conjecture.  I  agree  with  my  proph- 
etess in  thinking  that  some  young  adventurous  bookseller  were  the 
hopefullest.  We  shall  see  soon. 

"Saturday  morning  I  wrote  to  Goethe  (with  kindest  love  from 
you,  too) ;  also  to  Charles  Buller  and  to  Fraser  (notifying  my  pres- 
ence), then  off  for  Shooter's  Hill,  some  ten  miles  away,  where  we  ar- 
rived in  time  for  dinner.  Strachey  is  as  alert  as  ever.  In  his  poor 
lady  I  had  room  to  mark  the  doings  of  time.  She  wore  a  sad,  se- 
cluded look;  I  learnt  she  had  been  for  three  years  violently  dys- 

1  Theresa,  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister. '' 
II.-5 


98  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

peptical.  Our  recognition  was  franker  on  my  part  than  on  hers ; 
only  her  eyes  spoke  of  gladness;  nay,  she  seemed  to  have  a  kind  of 
fear  of  me,  and  in  a  little  special  conversation  I  had  it  all  to  myself. 
She  inquired  kindly  for  you,  whom  I  described  as  one  that  she  would 
like,  a  hater  of  lies,  to  begin  with.  Poor  Julia  Strachey  !  She  is  like 
a  flower  frozen  among  ice,  and  now  contented  with  such  soil:  a  hith- 
erto unnoticed  girl  had  rushed  up  to  a  woman,  and  in  the  long  black 
locks  I  noticed  a  streak  of  gray.  Fleeting  time  !  Here,  too,  might 
I  partly  discern  that  my  place  was  changed,  though  still  (not?)  empty. 
A  '  female  friend,'  skilled,  it  is  said,  in  the  Greek  tragedians  (credat 
Apella),  was  there,  brimful  of  intolerant  Church-of-Englandism — a 
little  gray-eyed,  ill-bred,  fat  button  of  a  creature  (very  like  a  certain 
white  sempstress  in  Ecclef  echan) :  with  her,  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing, I  was  provoked  for  one  moment,  so  pert  was  she,  to  run  tilt, 
and,  I  fear,  transfix  her.  Strachey  was  beginning  a  hoarse  laugh,  but 
suddenly  checked  himself,  as  a  landlord  should:  the  little  Button 
went  off  to  bed  without  good-night,  but  was  blithe  again  next  morn- 
ing. That  such  should  be  the  only  friend  of  such!  Let  not  us,  dear 
Jeannie,  complain  of  solitude.  I  have  still  you,  with  really  a  price- 
less talent  for  silence,  as  Mrs.  S.,  too,  has.  I  say  priceless,  for  this 
Button  wants  it  wholly,  and  thereby  I  felt  would  have  driven  me  in 
three  days  to  blank  despair. 

' '  The  orator  was  at  Leamington  when  I  arrived.  He  only  re- 
turned Saturday  night ;  has  already  been  up  here  to  see  me,  and  left 
a  message  that  he  would  be  at  home  all  day.  From  all  I  can  see, 
Irving  seems  to  have  taken  his  part:  is  forgotten  by  the  intellectual 
classes,  but  still  flourishes  as  a  green  bay-tree  (or  rather  green  cab- 
bage-tree) among  the  fanatical  classes,  whose  ornament  and  beacon 
he  is.  Strangely  enough,  it  is  all  fashioned  among  these  people  :  a 
certain  everlasting  truth,  ever  new  truth,  reveals  itself  in  them,  but 
with  a  body  of  mere  froth  and  soap-suds  and  other  the  like  ephemeral 
impurities.  Yet  I  love  the  man,  and  can  trustfully  take  counsel  of 
him.  His  wife  I  saw  some  nights  ago — leaner,  clearer-complexioned, 
I  should  say  clearer-hearted,  also,  and  clearer-headed;  but,  alas!  very 
straitlaced,  and  living  in  the  suds  element. 

' '  I  forced  myself  out  this  morning  to  go  and  breakfast  with  the 
Advocate,  and  was  there  before  any  one  was  up.  Charlotte,  the 
younger  and  the  elder,  received  me  in  their  choicest  mood.  In  the 
midst  of  breakfast  a  side  door  opened,  and  the  poor  Duke  looked  in 
in  his  nightgown  (for  they  have  made  the  back  drawing-room  into  a 
bedroom)  to  ask  for  me,  and,  with  the  old  quizzicality  in  his  little 
face,  declared,  'Why,  Charley,  I've  got  the  cholera,  I  believe.'  He 
called  me  afterwards  into  his  bedroom  to  ask  how  I  was  progress- 
ing ;  thought  it  likely  that  Murray  would  publish  at  some  time  or 
other;  spoke  of  John;  asked  for  your  health,  and  what  I  had  pre- 
scribed for  you.  Letters  arriving,  I  got  your  frank,  and  withdrew, 
straitly  charged  to  return.  I  am  to  take  tea  this  evening  at  Bad- 
ams's,  where  Godwin  is  promised. " 

"Wednesday,  August  17. 

"I  left  off  on  the  eve  of  seeing  Irving  and  taking  tea  with  God- 
win. The  first  object  I  accomplished.  Irving,  with  his  huge  fleece 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  99 

of  now  grizzled  hair,  was  eager  to  talk  with  me  and  see  me  often.  I 
was  with  him  last  night,  and,  being  quite  in  his  neighborhood  (within 
three  minutes),  shall  take  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  him.  He 
is  bent  on  our  coming  to  London,  of  which  I  myself  can  yet  say 
nothing.  Some  vague  schemes  of  settling  within  some  miles  of  it 
(as  at  Enfield,  where  Badams  is  to  live)  are  hovering  about  me, which 
I  will  overhaul  and  see  through.  It  will  all  depend  on  this,  Can  I 
get  work  here,  and  money  for  it  to  keep  any  sort  of  house  ?  which 
question  is  yet  far  from  answered  or  answerable.  However,  I  hope, 
and  fear  not. 

"Next  came  Godwin.  Did  you  not  grudge  me  that  pleasure, 
now  ?  At  least,  mourn  that  you  were  not  there  with  me  !  Grudge 
not,  mourn  not,  dearest  Jeannie ;  it  was  the  most  unutterable  stupid- 
ity ever  enacted  on  this  earth.  We  went,  Jack  and  I,  to  the  huge 
Frenchwoman,  Mrs.  Kenny's  (once  Mrs.  Holcrof t),  Badams's  mother- 
in-law,  a  sort  of  more  masculine  Aurelia  ('  Wilhelm  Meister '),  who 
lives,  moves,  and  has  her  being  among  plays,  operas,  dilettantes,  and 
playwrights.  Badams  and  his  wife  had  not  returned  from  the 
country,  but  in  a  few  minutes  came.  Mrs.  Godwin  already  sate  gos- 
siping'in  the  dusk — an  old  woman  of  no  significance;  by-and-by 
dropped  in  various  playwrightesses  and  playwrights,  whom  I  did 
not  even  look  at ;  shortly  before  candles  Godwin  himself  (who  had 
been  drinking  good  green  tea  by  his  own  hearth  before  stirring  out). 
He  is  a  bakC  bushy-browed,  thick,  hoary,  hale  little  figure,  taciturn 
enough,  and  speaking,  when  he  does  speak,  with  a  certain  epigram- 
matic spirit,  wherein,  except  a  little  shrewdness,  there  is  nothing  but 
the  most  commonplace  character.  (I  should  have  added  that  he 
wears  spectacles,  has  full  gray  eyes,  a  very  large,  blunt,  characterless 
nose,  and  ditto  chin.)  By  degrees  I  hitched  myself  near  him,  and 
was  beginning  to  open  him  and  to  open  on  him,  for  he  had  stared 
twice  at  me,  when  suddenly  enough  began  a  speaking  of  French 
among  the  Kennys  and  Badamsinas  (for  they  are  all  French-Eng- 
lish), and  presently  Godwin  was  summoned  off  to — take  a  hand  at 
whist !  /  had  already  flatly  declined.  There  did  the  philosopher 
sit,  and  a  swarm  of  noisy  children,  chattering  women,  noisy  dilettan- 
tes round  him ;  and  two  women  literally  crashing  hoarse  thunder  out 
of  a  piano  (for  it  was  louder  than  an  iron  forge)  under  pretext  of  its 
being  music  by  Rossini.  I  thought  of  my  own  piano,  and  the  far 
different  fingering  it  got;  looked  sometimes  not  without  sorrow  at 
the  long-nosed  whist-player,  and  in  the  space  of  an  hour  (seeing  sup- 
per about  to  be  laid  in  another  room)  took  myself  away. 

"  Next  morning  (Tuesday)  I  went  to  Bowring's.  Figure  to  yourself 
a  thin  man  about  my  height  and  bent  at  the  middle  into  an  angle  of 
150°,  the  back  quite  straight,  with  large  gray  eyes,  a  huge  turn-up 
nose  with  straight  nostrils  to  the  very  point,  and  large  projecting 
close-shut  mouth  :  figure  such  a  one  walking  restlessly  about  the 
room  (for  he  had  been  thrown  out  of  a  gig,  and  was  in  pain),  frank 
of  speech,  vivid,  emphatic,  and  verstdndig.  Such  is  the  Radical  Doc- 
tor. We  talked  copiously,  he  utterly  utilitarian  and  Radical,  I  ut- 
terly mystical  and  Radical;  and  parted  about  noon, with  a  standing 
invitation  on  his  part  to  come  again,  and  promise  to  introduce  me  to 
the  Examiner  editor  (Fonblanque) ;  and  a  certain  trust  on  my  part 


100  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  disposition  to  cultivate  further  acquaintance.  He  named  several 
booksellers  whom  I  might  apply  to  iu  case  Murray  balked  me,  as  I 
calculate  he  is  but  too  like  to  do. 

"  Wednesday  morning  I  put  on  clean  raiment  (nothing  but  the 
white  trousers  are  wearable  here  for  the  heat,  and  I  have  still  only 
two  pairs),  and,  drawing  myself  a  chart  on  a  slip  of  paper,  started 
off  to  Albemarle  Street  according  to  bargain.  The  dog  of  a  book- 
seller gone  to  the  country.  I  leave  my  card  with  remonstrances 
and  inquiries  when?  The  clerk  talks  of  'Mr.  Murray  writing  to 
you,  sir  ?'  I  will  call  again  to-morrow  morning  and  make  Mr.  M. 
speak  to  me,  I  hope.  .  .  . 

"  Thursday. — I  went  to  the  House  of  Commons  last  night  and 
found  at  the  door  a  Speaker's  order  awaiting  me  from  the  Duke. 
It  is  a  pretty  apartment  that  of  theirs;  far  smaller  than  I  expected,1 
hardly  larger  than  some  drawing-rooms  you  have  seen,  with  some 
four  ranges  of  benches  rising  high  behind  each  other  like  pews  in 
a  church  gallery;  an  oval  open  space  in  the  middle,  at  the  farther 
extremity  of  which  sits  the  Speaker  in  what  seemed  a  kind  of  press 
(like  our  wardrobe,  only  oaken);  opposite  him  is  the  door.  A  very 
narrow  gallery  runs  all  round  atop  for  reporters,  strangers,  etc.  I 
was  seated  on  the  ground-floor  below  this.  Althorp  spoke,  a  thick, 
large,  broad-whiskered,  farmer-looking  man;  Hume  also,  a  powder- 
ed, clean,  burly  fellow;  and  Wetherell,  a  beetle-browed,  sagacious, 
quizzical  old  gentleman ;  then  Davies,  a  Roman-nosed  dandy,  whom 
I  leftjannering,  having  left  it  all  in  some  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
O'Connell  came  and  spoke  to  an  individual  before  me.  You  would 
call  him  a  well-doing  country  shopkeeper,  with  a  bottle-green  frock 
or  great  coat,  and  brown  scratch  wig.  I  quitted  them  with  the 
highest  contempt;  our  poor  Duke,  or  any  known  face,  I  could  not 
see. 

"This  morning  I  returned  to  Albemarle  Street ;  the  bookseller  was 
first  denied  to  me,  then  showed  his  broad,  one-eyed  face,  and  with 
fair  speeches  signified  that  his  family  were  all  ill,  and  he  had  been 
called  into  the  country;  and  my  manuscript — lay  still  unopened  ! 
I  reminded  him,  not  without  emphasis,  of  the  engagement  made, 
and  how  I  had  nothing  else  to  do  here  but  see  that  matter  brought 
to  an  end,  to  all  which  he  pleaded  hard  in  extenuation,  and  for  two 
or  three  days'  further  allowance.  I  made  him  name  a  new  day: 
'Saturday  first;'  then  I  am  to  return  and  learn  how  the  matter 
stands.  He  is  said  to  be  noted  for  procrastination,  but  also  for 
honorableness,  even  munificence.  My  prospects  apart  from  him 
are  not  brilliant ;  however,  loss  of  time  is  the  worst  of  all  losses ;  he 
shall  not  keep  me  dancing  round  him  very  long,  go  how  it  may. 
Of  the  Duke  I  would  gladly  take  counsel ;  but  find  no  opportunity 
to  speak — a  visit  profits  almost  nothing.  Happily,  however,  I  can 
take  counsel  of  myself. 

"  I  am  to  dine  with  Drummond  the  banker  to-morrow,  an  admirer 
of  mine  whom  I  have  never  seen.  On  Saturday  with  Allan  Cun- 
ningham. These  are  my  outlooks  for  the  present." 


1  The  old  house,  before  the  fire. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  101 


"  August  22. 

"My  dearest  little  Comforter, — Your  dear  kind  letter  arrived 
that  Thursday  night,  though  not  till  late — with  the  very  latest  of 
the  'Twopennies,'  I  think;  which  invaluable  class  of  men  keep 
travelling  here  all  day  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  ten  at  night. 
My  blessings  on  thee,  little  Goody,  for  the  kind  news  thou  sendest! 
It  is  all  a  living  picture,  and  the  dear  Screamikin  artist  standing  in 
the  middle  of  it,  both  acting  it  and  drawing  it  for  my  sake.  I  saw 
your  half-insane  beer-barrel  of  a  Fyff e, '  and  the  midges  all  buzzing 
round  him  in  the  sultry  morning;  the  racket  of  the  Macturk  chaise, 
your  rushing  forth  to  the  post-office,  your  eager  devouring  of  my 
letter,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  in  which,  alas!  the  headache  and  the 
two  hours  of  sleep  did  not  escape  me.  Compose  thyself,  my  dar- 
ling; we  shall  not  be  separated,  come  of  it  what  may.  And  how 
should  we  do,  think'st  thou,  with  an  eternal  separation?  O  God, 
it  is  fearful!  fearful!  But  is  not  a  little  temporary  separation  like 
this  needful  to  manifest  what  daily  mercy  is  in  our  lot  which  other- 
wise we  might  forget,  or  esteem  as  a  thing  of  course?  Understand, 
however,  once  more  that  I  have  yet  taken  up  with  no  other  woman. 
Nay,  many  as  I  see — light  air-forms  tripping  it  in  satin  along  the 
streets,  or  plumed  amazons  curbing  their  palfreys  in  the  park  with 
pomp  and  circumstance  enough — there  has  no  one  yet  fronted  me 
whom  even  to  look  at  I  would  exchange  with  my  own.  Ach  Oott ! 
there  is  not  such  a  one  extant.  Yes,  as  proud  as  I  am  grown  (for 
the  more  the  Devil  pecks  at  me,  the  more  vehemently  do  I  wring  his 
nose),  and  standing  on  a  kind  of  basis  which  I  feel  to  be  of  ada- 
mant, I  perceive  that  of  all  women  my  own  Jeannie  is  the  wife  for 
me;  that  in  her  true  bosom  (once  she  were  a  mystic)  a  man's  head 
is  worthy  to  lie.  Be  a  mystic,  dearest;  that  is,  stand  with  me  on 
this  everlasting  basis,  and  keep  thy  arms  around  me :  through  life  I 
fear  nothing. 

"But  I  must  proceed  with  my  journal  of  life  in  London.  My 
narrative  must  have  finished  on  Thursday  night  about  five  o'clock. 
Jack  and  I  went  out  to  walk  and  make  calls  after  that;  found  no 
one  at  home  but  Mrs.  Badams,  who  was  nigh  weeping  when  she 
spoke  to  us  of  her  husband.  Poor  thing,  she  has  a  ticklish  game  to 
play;  for  Badams  seems  to  me  to  be  hovering  on  the  verge  of  ruin 
— uncertain  as  yet  whether  he  will  turn  back,  or  only  plunge  down, 
down.  I  tell  all  this  in  one  word :  he  is  in  the  habit  of  daily  drink- 
ing brandy  till  his  head  gets  confused.  He  began  this  accursed 
practice  not  many  months  ago  for  the  sake  of  an  intolerable  head- 
ache he  had,  and  which  brandy  (then  nauseous  enough  to  him)  was 
wont  to  cure;  but  now  I  suspect  the  nauseousuess  lias  ceased,  and 
the  brandy  is  chiefly  coveted  because  it  yields  stupefaction.  His 
volition  seems  gone,  or  quite  dormant;  his  gig  has  broken  down 
with  him  all  to  shivers,  at  full  speed.2 

' '  With  the  Montagus  I  have  somewhat  less  sympathy.     It  seems 

i  A  Haddington  doctor,  one  of  Miss  Welsh's  many  suitors  before  her  marriage. 
3  Hadaras — once  one  of  Carlyle's  truest  aftid  most  useful  friends — died  miserably 
soon  after. 


102  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

still  uncertain  whether  they  will  lose  anything  by  him,1  and  their 
ferocity  (except  from  Basil)  is  quite  transcendental.  On  the  whole, 
my  original  impression  of  that  '  noble  lady '  was  the  true  one.  .  .  . 
She  goes  upon  words  —  words.  I  callea  once  more  and  left  my 
card,  and  shall  continue  at  rare  intervals  to  do  the  like;  but  for 
trust  or  friendship  it  is  now  more  clearly  than  ever  a  chimera.  I 
smiled  (better  than  the  Duke  did)  at  her  offer  of  '  giving  YOU  mon- 
ey '  to  come  hither.  Jane  Welsh  Cartyle  a  taker  of  money  in  this 
era  of  the  gigmen  !  Nimmer  und  nimimrmehr.  .  .  .  Tush!  it  is  all 
stuff  and  fudge  and  fiddle-faddle,  of  which  I  begin  to  grow  aweary. 
Oh  no,  my  dearest;  we  will  have  no  meetings  that  we  cannot  pur- 
chase for  ourselves.  We  shall  meet ;  nay,  perhaps,  ere  long  thou 
shalt  see  London  and  thy  husband  in  it,  on  earnings  of  our  own. 
From  all  which  the  practical  inference  is,  '  let  us  endeavor  to  clear 
our  minds  of  cant.' 

"  Friday  I  spent  with  Irving  in  the  animali  parlanti  region  of  the 
supernatural.  Understand,  ladykin,  that  the  'gift  of  tongues'  is 
here  also  (chiefly  among  the  women),  and  a  positive  belief  that  God 
is  still  working  miracles  in  the  Church — by  hysterics.  Nay,  guess 
my  astonishment  when  I  learned  that  poor  Dow  of  Irongray"  is  a 
wonder-worker  and  speaker  with  tongues,  and  had  actually  'cast 
out  a  devil '  (which,  however,  returned  again  in  a  week)  between 
you  and  Dumfries!  I  gave  my  widest  stare;  but  it  is  quite  indubi- 
table. His  autograph  Tetter  w.as  read  to  me,  detailing  all  that  the 
'  Laart '  had  done  for  him.  Poor  fellow!  it  was  four  days  after  his 
wife's  death.  I  was  very  wae  or^  him,  and  not  a  little  shocked. 
Irving  hauled  me  off  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  hear  my  double 
(Mr.  Scott),  where  I  sat  directly  behind  a  speakeress  with  tongues, 
who  unhappily,  however,  did  not  perform  till  after  I  was  gone.  My 
double  is  more  like  '  Maitland, '  the  cotton-eared,  I  hope,  than  me ;  a 
thin,  black-complexioned,  vehement  man,  earnest,  clear,  and  narrow 
as  a  tailor's  listing.  For  a  stricken  hour  did  he  sit  expounding  in 
the  most  superannuated  dialect  (of  Chroist  and  so  forth),  yet  with 
great  heartiness,  the  meaning  of  that  one  word  Enteagen.  The  good 
Irving  looked  at  me  wistfully,  for  he  knows  I  cannot  take  miracles 
in;  yet  he  looks  so  piteously,  as  if  he  implored  me  to  believe.  Oh 
dear  !  oh  dear  !  was  the  Devil  ever  busier  than  now,  when  the  super- 
natural must  either  depart  from  the  world,  or  reappear  there  like  a 
chapter  of  Hamilton's  'Diseases  of  Females?' 

"  At  night  I  fondly  trusted  that  we  had  done  with  the  miraculous; 
but  no,  Henry  Drummond  too  is  a  believer  in  it.  This  Drummond, 
who  inhabits  a  splendid  mansion  in  the  west,  proved  to  be  a  very 
striking  man.  Taller  and  leaner  than  I,  but  erect  as  a  plummet, 
with  a  high-carried,  quick,  penetrating  head,  some  fiye-and-forty 
years  of  age,  a  singular  mixture  of  all  things — of  the  saint,  the  wit, 
the  philosopher — swimming,  if  I  mistake  not,  in  an  element  of  dan- 
dyism. His  dinner  was  dandiacal  in  the  extreme:  a  meagre  series 
of  pretentious  kickshaws,  on  which  no  hungry  jaw  could  satisfac- 
torily bite;  flunkies  on  all  hands,  yet  I  had  to  ask  four  times  before 

>  Badams  had  led  them  into  some  speculation  which  had  not  been  successful. 
»  A  Craigenputtock  neighbor. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  103 

I  could  get  a  morsel  of  bread.  His  wife  has  had  '  twenty  miscar- 
riages, '  and  looks  pitiful  enough.  Besides  her  we  were  five :  Spen- 
cer Percival,  member  of  the  House  (of  Stupids,  called  of  Commons); 
Tudor,  a  Welshman,  editor  of  the  Morning  Watch;  our  host,  Irv- 
ing, and  I.  They  were  all  prophetical,  Toryish,  ultra-religious.  I 
emitted,  notwithstanding,  floods  of  JTeufelsdrockhist  Radicalism, 
which  seemed  to  fill  them  with  weender  and  amazement,  but  was 
not  ill  received,  and  indeed  refused  to  be  gainsaid.  We  parted 
with  friendliest  indifference,  and  shall  all  be  happy  to  meet  again 
and  to  part  again.  This  Drummond,  who  is  a  great  pamphleteer, 
has  '  quoted '  me  often,  it  seems,  etc.  He  is  also  a  most  munificent 
and  beneficent  man — as  his  friends  say. 

"  On  Saturday  morning  I  set  out  for  Albemarle  Street.  Murray, 
as  usual,  was  not  in ;  but  an  answer  lay  for  me — my  poor  '  Teuf  els- 
drOckh, '  wrapped  in  new  paper,  with  a  letter  stuck  under  the  pack- 
thread. I  took  it  with  a  silent  fury  and  walked  off.  The  let- 
ter said  he  regretted  exceedingly,  etc. ;  all  his  literary  friends  were 
out  of  town;  he  himself  occupied  with  a  sick  family  in  the  country; 
that  he  had  conceived  the  finest  hopes,  etc.  In  short,  that  '  Teufels- 
drockh'  had  never  been  looked  into;  but  that,  if  I  would  let  him 
keep  it  for  a  month,  he  would  flien  be  able  to  say  a  word,  and  by 
God's  blessing  a  favorable  one. 

"  I  walked  on  through  Regent  Street,  and  looked  in  upon  James 
Fraser,  the  bookseller.  We  got  to  talk  about  '  Teuf  elsdrockh, ' 
when,  after  much  hithering  and  thithering  about  the  black  state  of 
trade,  etc.,  it  turned  out  that  honest  James  would  publish  the  book 
for  me  on  this  principle:  if  I  would  give  him  a  sum  not  exceeding 
1501.  sterling!  'I  think  you  had  better  wait  a  little,'  said  an  Edin- 
burgh advocate  to  me  since,  when  he  heard  of  this  proposal.  '  Yes,' 
I  answered,  '  it  is  my  purpose  to  wait  to  the  end  of  eternity  for  it.' 
'But  the  public  will  not  buy  books.'  'The  public  has  done  the 
wisest  thing  it  could,  and  ought  never  more  to  buy  what  they  call 
books. ' 

"  Spurning  at  destiny,  yet  in  the  mildest  terms  taking  leave  of 
Fraser,  I  strode  through  the  streets  carrying  '  Teufelsdrockh '  openly 
in  my  hand.  I  took  a  pipe  and  a  glass  of  water,  and  counsel  with 
myself.  I  was  bilious  and  sad,  and  thought  of  my  dear  Jeannie,  for 
whom  also  were  these  struggles.  Having  rested  a  little,  I  set  out 
again  to  the  Longmans,  to  hear  what  they  had  to  say.  The  '  German 
Literary  History '  having  soon  been  despatched,  I  describe  '  Teufels- 
drockh,' bargain  that  they  are  to  look  at  it  themselves,  and  send  it 
back  again  in  two  days;  that  is,  to-morrow.  They  are  honest,  rug- 
ged, punctual-looking  people,  and  will  keep  their  word;  but  the 
chance  of  declining  seems  to  me  a  hundred  to  one.  A  la  bonne 
heure !  I  have  a  problem  which  is  possible :  either  to  get  '  Dreck ' 
printed,  or  to  ascertain  that  I  cannat,  and  so  tie  him  up  and  come 
home  with  him.  So  fear  nothing,  love.  I  care  not  a  doit  for  the 
worst;  and  thou  too  hast  the  heart  of  a  heroine — art  worthv  of  me 
were  I  the  highest  of  heroes.  Nay,  my  persuasion  that  '  Teufels- 
drockh '  is  in  his  place  and  his  time  here  grows  stronger  the  more  I 
see  of  London  and  its  philosophy.  The  doctrine  of  the  Phoenix, 
of  Natural  Supernaturalism,  and  the  whole  Clothes  Philosophy 


104  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

(be  it  but  well  stated)  is  exactly  what  all  intelligent  men  are 
wanting. 

"  Sunday  morning  had  a  snip  of  a  note  from  Empson.  Walked 
over  to  Jermyn  Street;  saw  the  Duke;  had  to  tell  him  openly  (or  not 
at  all)  how  it  stood  with  my  manuscript;  felt  clear  and  sharp  as  a 
war  weapon,  for  the  world  was  not  brotherly  to  me.  The  Charlottes 
were  at  church.  I  consulted  the  Duke  about  Napier;  found  my  own 
idea  confirmed  that  he  was  anxious  enough  to  have  me  write,  but 
afraid  lest  I  committed  him;  so  that '  agreeing  about  subjects '  would 
be  the  difficulty.  Jeffrey  asked  to  see  my  MS.  when  the  Longmans 
had  done  with  it:  he  would  look  through  it  and  see  what  he  could 
talk  to  Murray  concerning  it.  I  gladly  consented;  and  thus  for  a 
while  the  matter  rests.  Murray  is  clearly  the  man  if  he  will ;  only  I 
have  lost  ten  days  by  him  already,  for  he  might  have  told  rue  what 
he  did  finally  tell  in  one  day." 

Carlyle,  little  sanguine  as  he  was,  had  a  right  to  be  surprised  at 
the  difficulty  of  finding  a  publisher  for  his  book.  Seven  years  be- 
fore he  had  received  a  hundred  pounds  for  his  "Life  of  Schiller." 
It  had  been  successful  in  England.  It  had  been  translated  into  Ger- 
man under  the  eye  of  Goethe  himself.  ' '  Sartor  "  Carlyle  reckoned 
to  be  at  least  three  times  as  good,  and  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  look 
at  it. 

Meanwhile,  on  another  side  of  his  affairs  the  prospect  unexpect- 
edly brightened.  His  brother  had  been  the  heaviest  of  his  anxieties. 
A  great  lady,  "the  Countess  of  Clare,"  was  going  abroad  and  re- 
quired a  travelling  physician.  Jeffrey  heard  of  it,  and  with  more 
real  practical  kindness  than  Carlyle  in  his  impatience  had  been  in- 
clined to  credit  him  with,  successfully  recommended  John  Car- 
lyle to  her.  The  arrangements  were  swiftly  concluded.  The  strug- 
gling, penniless  John  was  lifted  at  once  into  a  situation  of  respon- 
sibility and  security,  with  a  salary  which  placed  him  far  beyond 
need  of  further  help,  and  promised  to  enable  him  to  repay  at 
no  distant  time  both  his  debt  to  Jeffrey,  and  all  the  money  which 
Carlyle  had  laid  out  for  him.  Here  was  more  than  compensation 
for  the  other  disappointments.  Not  only  Carlyle  had  no  longer  to 
feel  that  he  must  divide  his  poor  earnings  to  provide  for  his  broth- 
er's wants  in  London,  but  he  could  look  without  anxiety  on  his  own 
situation.  He  even  thought  himself  permitted,  instead  of  returning 
to  Craigenputtoek,  to  propose  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  should  join  him  in 
London  without  the  help  of  Mrs.  Montagu.  He  was  making  friends; 
he  was  being  talked  about  as  a  new  phenomenon  of  a  consequence 
as  yet  unknown.  Review  and  magazine  editors  were  recovering 
heart,  and  again  seeking  his  assistance.  He  could  write  his  articles 
as  well  in  a  London  lodging  as  in  the  snowy  solitudes  of  Dunscore, 
while  he  could  look  about  him  and  weigh  at  more  leisure  the  possi- 
bilities of  finally  removing  thither.  He  wrote  to  propose  it,  and 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  105 

awaited  his  wife's  decision.     Meanwhile  his  letters  continue  his 
story. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"London:  August  26, 1831. 

"My  dear  Mother, — As  Jack  proposes  writing  to  my  father,  doubt- 
less lie  will  mention  the  good  tidings  he  has  to  tell ;  namely,  of  an 
appointment  to  be  travelling  physician  to  a  lady  of  great  rank,  the 
Countess  of  Clare,  with  a  salary  of  300  guineas  a  yedY,  all  travelling 
expenses  included.  This  is  the  work  of  the  Lord-advocate,  Jeffrey, 
and  is  looked  on  by  every  one  as  a  piece  of  real  good-fortune.  For 
yourself,  my  dear  mother,  I  know  how  you  dislike  foreign  voyaging, 
and  that  all  your  maternal  fears  will  be  awakened  by  this  arrange- 
ment. However,  you  too  will  reflect  that  anything  in  honesty  is 
better  than  forced  idleness,  which  was  poor  Doil's  *  condition  here ; 
also  you  may  take  my  word  for  it  that  the  dangers  of  such  a  course 
of  travel  are  altogether  trifling — not  equal  to  those  of  walking  the 
London  streets,  and  running,  every  time  you  cross,  lest  couches 
break  a  limb  of  you.  The  lady  herself  is  an  invalid,  and  must  jour- 
ney with  every  convenience.  Italy,  whither  they  are  bound,  is  the 
finest  of  climates;  and  the  sailing  part  of  it  is  simply  of  three  hours' 
continuance — in  whole,  twenty-Jive  miles.  I  have  seen  some  people 
who  know  the  Countess,  and  all  give  her  a  good  character.  She  is 
young  (perhaps  thirty-three),  courteous,  and  has  behaved  in  this 
transaction  with  great  liberality.  Jack  also  is  much  more  prudent 
and  manly  in  his  ways  than  he  was;  so  that  I  think  there  is  a  fair  pros- 
pect of  his  even  doing  the  poor  lady  some  good,  and  getting  into  a 
friendly  relation  to  her,  which  also  may  eventually  do  himself 
much  good.  Something  mysterious  there  is  in  the  condition  of  this 
high  personage.  She  was  married  some  years  ago,  and  shortly  after 
that  event  she  parted  from  her  husband  (they  say  by  her  own  deter- 
mination), the  nearest  friends  know  not  for  what  reason;  and  now 
she  lives  in  a  sort  of  widowhood  (her  husband  is  Governor  of  Bom- 
bay, and  said  to  be  '  a  very  good  sort  of  man '),  so  that  being  farther 
in  ill-health  she  is  probably  unhappy  enough,  and  has  need  of  good 
counsel  every  way. 

"The  business  of  the  book  proceeds  but  crabbedly.  The  whole 
English  world,  I  find,  has  ceased  to  read  books,  which,  as  I  often  say 
to  the  booksellers,  is  the  wisest  thing  the  English  world  could  do, 
considering  what  wretched  froth  it  has  been  dosed  with  for  many 
years,  under  the  false  title  of  '  books.'  Every  mind  is  engrossed  with 
political  questions,  and  in  a  more  earnest  mood  than  to  put  up  with 
such  stuff  as  has  been  called  literature.  Meanwhile,  though  I  cannot 
but  rejoice  in  this  state  of  public  opinion,  yet  the  consequences  to 
myself  are  far  from  favorable.  The  present,  too,  I  find,  is  the  dead- 
est part  of  the  whole  year  for  business,  so  that  every  way  the  matter 
moves  heavily,  and  I  require  to  have  my  own  shoulder  at  it  always 
or  it  would  not  move  at  all.  Hitherto  I  have  made  no  approxima- 
tion to  a  bargain,  except  finding  that  man  after  man  will  not  act,  and 
only  at  best  demands  '  time  for  consideration,'  which,  except  in  very 

>  Family  nickname  of  John  Carlyle. 
II.— 5* 


106  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

limited  measure,  I  cannot  afford  to  give  him.  The  MS.  is  at  pres- 
ent in  Jeffrey's  hands,  whence  I  expect  to  receive  it  in  some  two 
days  with  a  favorable,  or  at  worst  an  unfavorable,  judgment — in 
either  of  which  cases  I  shall  find  out  what  to  do.  Little  money,  I 
think,  will  be  had  for  my  work,  but  I  will  have  it  printed  if  there  be 
a  man  in  London  that  will  do  it,  even  without  payment  to  myself. 
If  there  be  no  such  man,  why,  then,  what  is  to  be  done  but  tie  a  piece 
of  good  skeenyie  about  my  papers,  stick  the  whole  in  my  pocket,  and 
march  home  again  with  it,  where  at  least  potatoes  and  onions  are  to 
be  had,  and  I  can  wait  till  better  times.  Nay,  in  any  case  I  find  that, 
either  in  possession  or  pretty  certain  expectation,  I  am  otherwise 
worth  almost  1001.  of  cash;  so  that  while  the  whinstone  house  stands 
on  the  moor,  what  care  I  for  one  of  them,  or  for  all  of  them  with  the 
Arch-enemy  at  their  head? 

"Of  any  permanent  settlement  here  there  is  as  yet  nothing  defi- 
nite to  be  said.  I  see  many  persons  here,  some  of  them  kind  and  in- 
fluential, almost  all  of  them  ignorant  enough,  and  hi  need  of  a  teach- 
er; but  no  offer  that  can  be  laid  hold  of  presents  itself  or  fixedly 
promises  itself.  This,  also,  I  will  see  through.  If  God  who  made  me 
and  keeps  me  alive  have  work  for  me  here,  then  here  must  I  pitch 
my  tent;  if  not,  then  elsewhere,  still  under  his  kind  sky,  under  his 
all-seeing  eye,  to  me  alike  where.  I  am  rather  resolute  sometimes, 
not  without  a  touch  of  grimness,  but  never  timid  or  discouraged; 
indeed,  generally  quite  quiet  and  cheerful.  If  I  see  no  way  of  get- 
ting home  soon,  I  have  some  thoughts  of  bringing  Jane  up  hither, 
for  she  must  be  very  lonely  where  she  is.  We  shall  see. 

"Thus,  my  dear  mother,  does  it  stand  with  us.  I  write  you  all 
this  to  satisfy  your  anxieties.  Be  of  good  cheer;  trust  for  us,  as  for 
all  things,  in  the  Giver  of  good,  who  will  order  att  things  well.  As- 
sure my  father  of  my  entire  love;  and  say  that  I  hope  to  tell  him 
many  things  when  I  return. 

"My  kindest  love  to  all,  not  forgetting  Jean  or  any  of  the  girls. 
God  keep  you  and  all  of  them.  That  is  ever  my  heart's  prayer. 
Many  times,  too,  does  sfie  that  is  not  now  with  us1  revisit  my  thoughts: 
inexpressibly  sad,  inexpressibly  mild ;  but  I  mourn  not.  I  rather 
rejoice  that  she  is  now  safe  in  the  land  of  eternity,  not  in  the  troub- 
lous, ever-shifting  land  of  time  and  of  dreams.  Oh,  often  I  think 
that  she  is  with  me  in  my  heart  whispering  to  me  to  bear  and  for- 
bear even  as  she  did,  to  endure  to  the  end,  and  then  we  shall  meet 
again  and  part  no  more.  Even  as  God  will  be  it ! 

"  I  conclude  mournfully  but  not  unhappily.  Shall  not  the  Great 
Father  wipe  away  the  tears  from  all  eyes?  Again  and  again  I  say, 
let  us  trust  in  Him,  and  Him  only.  Let  us  ever  live  in  hope,  in  faith! 
God  bless  you  all! 

"I  am,  dear  mother,  your  affectionate  son,         T.  CAKLTLE." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Craigenputtock. 

"  August  29. 

"Dearest  Wife, — This  is  Monday,  and  I  have  already,  taking  no 
counsel  with  flesh  and  blood,  discharged  two  little  duties :  first,  gone 

>  His  sister  Margaret. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  107 

and  seen  Empson  (whom  I  had  heretofore  missed)  before  breakfast; 
second,  arranged  my  washerwoman's  goods,  and  made  an  invoice 
thereof,  that  she  may  call  for  them,  which  duty  it  were  my  dear 
Goody's  part  to  do  were  I  not  for  a  time  Goodyless ;  so  that  now  at 
noontide  I  can  sit  down  with  a  clear  conscience,  and  talk  heartily 
and  heartsomely  with  my  own  child  about  all  things  and  about  noth- 
ing, as  is  my  wont  and  my  delight.  Thus  in  this  spectre-crowded 
desert  I  have  a  living  person  whose  heart  I  can  clasp  to  mine,  and  so 
feel  that  I  too  am  alive.  Do  you  not  love  me  better  than  ever  now? 
I  feel  in  my  own  soul  that  thou  dost  and  must.  Therefore  let  us 
never  mourn  over  this  little  separation  which  is  but  to  make  the  re- 
union more  blessed  and  entire. 

"  Your  two  letters  are  here  in  due  season,  like  angels  (angel  means 
heavenly  messenger)  from  a  far  country.  The  first,  as  I  prophesied, 
lay  waiting  for  me  at  my  return ;  the  second  I  found  lying  on  the 
Duke's  table  on  Saturday,  and  snatched  it  up  and  read  it  in  the  hub- 
bub of  Piccadilly  so  soon  as  I  could  tear  myself  out  into  the  solitude 
of  crowds.  Bless  thee,  my  darling!  I  could  almost  wish  thee  the 
pain  of  a  ride  to  Dumfries  weekly  for  the  sake  of  such  a  letter.  But 
/*<wZ  you  actually  to  faint  all  the  way  up?  Heaven  forbid !  And  the 
'disease'  on  that  fair  face — how  is  it?  If  no  better,  never  mind;  I 
swear  that  it  shall  and  will  get  better,  or  if  it  do  not,  that  I  will  love 
you  more  than  ever  while  it  lasts.  Will  that  make  amends?  It  is 
no  vain  parade  of  rhetoric ;  it  is  a  serious  fact :  my  love  for  you  does 
not  depend  on  looks,  and  defies  old-age  and  decay,  and,  I  can  proph- 
esy, will  grow  stronger  the  longer  we  live  and  toil  together.  Yes, 
Jeannie,  though  I  have  brought  you  into  rough,  rugged  conditions, 
I  feel  that  I  have  saved  you :  as  Gigmaness  you  could  not  have  lived ; 
as  woman  and  wife  you  need  but  to  see  your  duties  in  order  to  do 
them,  and  to  say  from  the  heart,  It  is  good  for  me  to  be  here.  So 
keep  thy  .arms  round  me,  and  be  my  own  prophetess  and  second 
self,  and  fear  nothing,  let  the  Devil  do  his  worst.  Poor  Elizabeth ! ' 
I  fear,  as  you  fear,  that  it  is  not  well  with  her.  Nevertheless,  who 
knows  the  issues  of  life  and  death?  Let  us  hope  the  best.  Above 
all,  do  not  you  be  a  coward.  I  love  you  for  your  bravery,  and  be- 
cause you  have  the  heart  of  a  valiant  woman.  Oh,  my  darling,  is  it 
conceivable  that  we  should  live  divided  in  this  unfriendly  scene? 
Crown  me  with  all  laurels  that  ever  decorated  man's  brow:  were  it 
other  than  the  bitterest  of  mockeries  if  &fie  who  had  struggled  with 
me  were  not  there  to  share  it? 

' '  But  I  must  check  this  lyrical  tendency.  Of  history  there  is  little 
to  be  told.  Slowly,  slowly  does  the  business  of  poor  '  Dreck '  get 
along,  let  me  push  it  as  I  may.  Heaven  bless  my  own  prophetess, 
who  has  from  the  first  prophesied  only  good  of  it.  Yes,  good  will 
come  of  it;  for  it  was  honestly  meant,  and  the  best  we  could  do. 
Meanwhile  do  but  mark  how  sluggishly  it  loiters. 

"  Yesterday  I  returned  (to  Jermyn  Street),  found  the  family  coach 
at  the  door,  and  all  in  the  act  of  drawing  on  gloves  to  go  out,  ex- 
cept the  Duke,  with  whom,  after  some  gabblement  with  the  others, 
I  had  the  unwonted  satisfaction  of  a  private  conversation — for  ten 

1  I  do  not  know  to  whom  this  refers. 


108  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

minuter  Inquiring  for  'TeufelsdrSckh,'  as  I  was  privileged  to  do, 
the  critic  professed  that  he  had  '  honestly  read '  twenty  -  eight  pages 
of  it  (surprising  feat);  that  he  objected  to  the  dilatoriness  of  the  in- 
troductory part  (as  we  both  did  also),  and  very  much  admired  the 
scene  of  the  sleeping  city;  further,  that  he  would  write  to  Murray 
that  very  day,1  as  I  gather  from  Empson  he  has  since  done,  to  ap- 
point a  meeting  with  him,  and,  if  possible,  attain  some  finish  with 
that  individual  at  least.  He  (Jeffrey)  would  look  through  the  book 
further  in  the  interim,  etc. ,  etc. 

"  Patience,  patience!  Hard  times  I  said,  dearest,  for  literary  men. 
Nevertheless,  let  us  take  them  as  they  come.  Nay,  Allan  Cunning- 
ham advises  me  that  it  were  almost  'madness'  to  press  forward  a 
literary  work  at  this  so  inauspicious  season  and  not  to  wait  for  a 
while — which,  nevertheless,  I  cannot  listen  to.  Why  wait?  Rxxti- 
cus  expectat;  besides  'Dreck'  must  be  printed  as  the  first  condition. 
Whether  we  get  any  money  for  him,  or  how  much,  is  a  quite  sec- 
ondary question.  I  have  nothing  for  it  but  to  try — try  to  the  utter- 
most— and  in  the  villanous  interval  of  expectation  to  explore  this 
wild,  immeasurable  chaos,  and  ascertain  whether  I  can  build  aught 
in  it.  Such  remains  my  outlook  hitherto.  Jeffrey  and  I  also  spoke 
about  the  'place  under  government.  Dawn  wird  Nichts,  'All 
filled  up;  'Applicants;'  'Economical  Ministry,'  etc.,  etc. — all 
which  the  Devil  is  welcome  to,  if  he  like.  Aide-tot,  le  ciel  t'aidera. 
I  think  of  these  things  with  considerable  composure,  at  times  with  a 
certain  silent  ferocity.  '  That  my  wife  should  walk  on  foot!'  Yet, 
is  she  not  my  wife,  and  shall  I  not  love  her  the  more  that  she  shares 
evil  with  me  as  if  it  were  good?  Let  us  fear  nothing.  I  have  the 
strength  of  20,000  Cockneys  while  thou  art  with  me.  Let  hard 
come  to  hard  as  it  will ;  we  will  study  to  be  ready  for  it.  ... 

"Of  all  the  deplorables  and  despicables  of  this  city  and  time  the 
saddest  are  the  'literary  men.'  Infandum!  infandum!  It  makes 
my  heart  sick  and  wae.  Except  Churchill,  and  perhaps  chiefly  be- 
cause he  liked  me,  I  have  hardly  found  a  man  of  common  sense  or 
common  honesty.  They  are  the  Devil's  own  vermin,  whom  the 
Devil,  in  his  good  time,  will  snare  and  successively  eat.  The  creat- 
ure   called  again ;  the  most  insignificant  haddock  in  nature — a 

dirty,  greasy  Cockney  apprentice,  altogether  empty,  and  non-extant 
except  for  one  or  two  metaphysical  quibbles  (about  every  lawr  of 
nature  being  an  idear  of  the  mind,  etc.),  and  the  completest  outfit  of 
innocent  blank  self-conceit  I  ever  in  life  chanced  to  witness.  He  is 
a  blown  bladder,  wherein  no  substance  is  to  be  sought.  And  yet  a 
curious  figure,  intrinsically  small,  small ;  yet  with  a  touch  of  genial- 
ity which,  far  apart  from  Coleridge  and  cockneyism,  might  have 
made  him  a  small  reality.  God  be  with  him!  He  was  almost  as 

wearisome  as  ,  and  very  much  detached,  as  it  struck  me;  knew 

nothing  of  men  or  things  more  than  a  sucking  dove,  at  the  same 
time  looked  out  with  an  occasional  gleam  of  geniality  in  his  eyes; 
seemed  even  to  like  me,  though  I  had  barbarously  enough  entreated 
him. 

"The  more  comfortable  was  it  to  meet  Empson  this  morning, 

>  Longman,  after  looking  through  the  MS.,  had  civilly  declined  iL 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  109 

in  whom  I  at  least  found  sanity,  and  what  I  have  all  along  had  to 
dispense  with — the  bearing  of  at  least  a  gentleman.  I  am  glad  I 
went  to  Empson — went  through  two  miles  of  tumultuous  streets; 
found  Empson  in  the  solitude  of  the  Temple,  reading  a  newspaper 
in  a  flannel  nightgown  (which  reminded  me  of  Goody's,  for  it  had  a 
belt,  only  it  was  twice  as  large);  a  tall,  broad,  thin  man,  with  wrin- 
kled face,  baldish  head,  and  large,  mild,  melancholy,  dreamy  blue 
eyes  under  bushy  brows.  He  has  a  defect  in  his  trachea,  and  can 
only  mumble  in  speech,  which  he  does  with  great  copiousness  in  a 
very  kindly  style,  confused  enough,  at  the  same  time  listening  with 
the  profoundest  attention  and  toleration  to  whatever  you  offer  in 
reply.  He  is,  as  I  thought,  on  the  threshold  of  mysticism,  but  I 
think  will  go  deeper.  Probably  enough  one  might  grow  to  like 
such  a  man;  at  all  events,  I  will  try,  and  so  I  think  will  you;  with 
your  mother  (were  she  more  cultivated,  or  he  more  ignorant)  he 
were  the  man  according  to  God's  heart.  Of  young  Mill  (the  Spirit 
of  the  Age  man)  he  speaks  very  highly,  as  of  a  converted  Utilita- 
rian who  is  studying  German ;  so  we  are  all  to  meet,  along  with  a 
certain  Mrs.  Austin,  a  young  Germanist  and  mutual  intercessor  (be- 
tween Mill  and  Empson),  and  breakfast  some  day  in  the  Templar's 
lodgings.  Quod  felix  faustumque  sit!  It  does  my  soul  good  to  meet 
a  true  soul.  Poor  inexperienced  Glen  is  the  only  phenomenon  of 
that  sort  I  have  yet  seen  here,  but  I  will  riddle  creation  till  I  find 
more.  Thus  before  your  arrival  (if  such  be  our  decision)  I  may  per- 
haps have  a  little  pleasant  circle  to  present  you  to,  for  of  the  old 
there  is  very  little  to  be  made ;  Irving  alone  stands  true,  and  he  (poor 
fellow!)  is  working  miracles,  while  the  Montagus,  Stracheys,  etc., 
have  mostly,  I  fear,  drifted  quite  to  leeward. 

' '  About  your  journey  to  London  I  myself  know  not  what  to  say. 
The  persuasion  groAvs  more  and  more  upon  me  that  we  should  spend 
the  winter  here.  Say,  Goody,  would  it  not  be  pleasant  to  THEE? 
Tell  me  distinctly;  and  yet  I  already  know  it  would,  but  that  (as 
beseems  a  good  wife)  you  subordinate  your  wishes  to  the  common 
good,  and  will  not  even  speak  of  them.  Well,  but  here  in  this  lodg- 
ing we  live  actually  (Jack  and  I)  for  some  two  guineas  a  week;  or 
suppose  in  the  winter  season,  and  with  many  little  gracefulnesses 
which  Goody  would  superadd,  it  cost  us  two— three  guineas:  what 
then?  It  is  little  more  than  we  used  to  spend  in  Edinburgh,  includ- 
ing rent ;  and  we  can  thoroughly  investigate  London.  I  cannot 
promise  you  the  comforts  of  our  own  poor  Craig;  yet  it  is  a  hand- 
some lodging,  and  with  purely  honest  people.  Our  drawing-room 
(for  such  it  is)  will  be  of  the  coldest,  I  doubt ;  but  coals  are  not  so 
very  dear,  and  the  female  mind  can  devise  thicker  clothes.  How 
then?  shall  it  be  decided  on?  We  have  to  go  somewhither:  why 
not  come  hither,  where  my  part  of  the  going  is  already  finished? 
Thyself  shall  say  it.  Use  thy  prophetic  gift.  If  it  answer  yes,  then 
will  I  strive  to  obey. " 

To  the  Same. 

"  September  4. 

"Thursday  was  the  wettest  of  wet  days,  even  till  after  bedtime; 
the  first  day  wherein  I  did  not  once  stir  out  (except  after  dark  to  Irv- 
ing's,  who  was  not  at  home).  Highgate  and  Coleridge  were  not 


110  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

to  be  thought  of.  After  reading  Goody's  letter,  I  sat  diligently 
over  my  proof-sheets — the  day  unvisited  by  any  adventure  except  a 
little  message  from  Mrs.  Austin. 

"  On  Friday  Jack  and  I  walked  over  to  the  House  of  Lords;  saw 
the  Chancellor  sitting  between  two  Lords  (two  are  necessary :  one  of 
them  Earl  Ferrers,  son  of  him  that  was  hanged,  and  the  ugliest  man 
extant,  very  like  David  Laing),  a  considerable  handful  of  listeners 
and  loiterers,  and  the  poor  little  darling  (Jeffrey)  with  a  gray  wig  on 
it,  and  queer  coatee  with  bugles  or  buttons  on  the  cuffs,  snapping 
away  and  speaking  there  in  a  foreign  country  among  entire  stran- 
gers. The  fat  Rutherford  sate  also  within  the  ring,  with  Dr.  Lush- 
ington  (the  divorcer)  and  certain  of  the  clerk  species.  I  declare  I 
was  partly  touched  with  something  of  human  feeling.  However, 
our  little  darling  seemed  as  gleg  as  ever;  the  '  trachea '  in  moderate 
order;  and  was  telling  his  story  like  a  little  king  of  elves.  The 
Chancellor  is  a  very  particularly  ignoble-looking  man;  a  face  not 
unlike  your  uncle  Robert's,  but  stonier,  and  with  a  deeper,  more 
restless,  more  dangerous  eye ;  nothing  but  business  in  his  face — no 
ray  of  genius,  and  even  a  considerable  tincture  of  insincerity.  He 
was  yawning  awfully,  with  an  occasional  twitching-up  of  the  cor- 
ners of  the  upper  lip  and  point  of  the  nose.  A  politician  truly,  and 
nothing  more.  Learning  that  the  Duke's  speech  would  not  end  for 
two  hours,  I  willingly  took  myself  away. 

"After  dinner  came  your  letter,  which  I  read  twice;  then  had  tea 
(black  tea  of  my  own) ;  then  off  to  the  Austins,  where  I  knew  there 
would  be  green  tea,  which  I  had  privately  determined  not  to  have. 
The  Frau  Austin  herself  was  as  loving  as  ever — a  true  Germanized 
spiritual  screamikin.  We  were  five  of  a  party:  her  husband,  a  lean 
gray-headed  painful-looking  man,  with  large  earnest  timid  eyes  and 
a  clanging  metallic  voice,  that  at  great  length  set  forth  Utilitarianism 
steeped  in  German  metaphysics,  not  dissolved  therein ;  a  very  worthy 
sort  of  limited  man  and  professor  of  law.  Secondly,  a  Frenchman, 
of  no  importance  whatever,  for  he  uttered  not  a  word  except  some 
compliments  in  his  own  tongue.  Thirdly,  John  Mill,  '  Spirit  of  the 
Age.'  The  other  two  you  know  already.  This  young  Mill,  I  fancy 
and  hope,  is  '  a  baying  you  can  love. '  A  slender,  rather  tall  and  ele- 
gant youth,  with  small  clear  Roman-nosed  face,  two  small  earnestly 
smiling  eyes;  modest,  remarkably  gifted  with  precision  of  utterance, 
enthusiastic,  yet  lucid,  calm;  not  a  great,  yet  distinctly  a  gifted  and 
amiable  youth.  We  had  almost  four  hours  of  the  best  talk  I  have 
mingled  in  for  long.  The  youth  walked  home  with  me  almost  to 
the  door;  seemed  to  profess,  almost  as  plainly  as  modesty  would  al- 
low, that  he  had  been  converted  by  the  head  of  the  Mystic  School, 
to  whom  personally  he  testified  very  hearty-looking  regard.  Emp- 
son  did  not  appear  (having  caught  cold,  or  something  of  that  sort), 
but  by  letter  (while  we  were  together)  engaged  Mill  and  me  to 
breakfast  with  him  on  Tuesday.  I  met  poor  Empson  to-day  riding 
towards  Holborn,  the  large  melancholy  eyes  of  the  man  turned 
downwards,  so  that  he  did  not  observe  me.  On  the  whole,  Goody- 
kin,  these  rudiments  of  a  mystic  school  (better  than  I  anticipated 
here)  are  by  far  the  most  cheering  phenomenon  I  see  in  London. 
Good  will  come  of  it.  Let  us  wait  and  see  in  what  way. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  Ill 

"At  the  Duke's  this  morning,  where  I  found  Rutherford  and 
Jayme  Relish,  the  Galloway  stot,  who  stared  at  me  as  if  minded  to 
gore,  or  afraid  of  being  gored,  till  I  bowed.  I  was  led  by  his  lord- 
ship into  a  private  room,  and  there  indulged  with  ten  minutes'  pri- 
vate talk  on  the  subject  of  '  Teuf  elsdrSckh. '  The  short  of  it  is  this: 
Murray  will  print  a  short  edition  (750  copies)  of  '  Dreck '  on  the 
half-profits  system  (that  is,  I  getting  nothing,  but  also  giving  noth- 
ing); after  which  the  sole  copyright  of  the  book  is  to  be  mine  ; 
which  offer  he  makes,  partly  out  of  love  to  '  your  lordship ;'  chiefly 
from  'my  great  opinion  of  the  originality, '  etc.  A  poorish  offer, 
Goody,  yet  perhaps,  after  all,  the  best  I  shall  get.  Better  considera- 
bly than  my  giving  1501.  for  the  frolic  of  having  written  such  a 
work !  I  mean  to  set  off  to-morrow  morning  to  Colburn  and  Bent- 
ley  (whom  Fraser  has  prepared  for  me),  and  ascertain  whether  they 
will  pay  me  anything  for  a  first  edition.  Unless  they  say  about  100£. 
I  will  prefer  Murray.  Murray  wished  me  to  try  everywhere.  You 
shall  hear  to-morrow  how  I  speed,  and  then  prophesy  upon  it. 

"I  have  this  day  written  off  to  Napier  to  say  that  I  have  an  article 
on  Luther^  ready  to  write,  and  ask  whether  he  will  have  it.  Fifty 
pounds  will  be  highly  useful  (thank  God,  not  yet  quite  indispensa- 
ble),-and  I  can  gain  it  handsomely  in  this  way.  These,  dearest,  are 
all  my  news.  It  is  all  very  wooden,  and  would  be  dull  to  any 
one  but  her  it  is  written  for.  She  will  not  think  it  dull,  but  in- 
teresting as  the  Epistle  of  a  Paul  to  the  church  which  is  at  Craig  o' 
Putto. 

'  'Monday,  4  o'clock. — I  was  at  Colburn's  about  eleven.  After  wait- 
ing a  weary  hour  in  the  Bentleian  apartments,  saw  a  muddy  char- 
acter enter,  to  whom  I  explained  myself  and  '  Dreck.' 1  The  muddy 
man  uttered  the  common  cant  of  compliments,  hinted  at  the  sole 
object  of  publishers  being  money,  the  difference  between  talent  and 
popularity,  etc.,  etc.  The  purport  will  be  that  we  shall  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  one  another.  So  much  I  could  gather  partly  from 
the  muddy  man.  I  shall  go  over  and  see  Murray  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  if  he  will  put  his  hand  to  the  plough  and  get  on  with 
the  printing  forthwith,  I  mean  to  close  with  him  and  have  done. 
The  offer  is  not  so  bad:  750  copies  for  the  task  of  publishing  poor 
Dreck,  and  the  rest  of  him  our  own.  If  he  do  not  succeed,  how 
could  I  ask  any  man  to  do  more?  If  he  do,  then  we  have  opening 
for  another  bargain.  Let  us  hope  nothing.  Goody;  then  we  fear 
nothing.  By  one  or  the  other  means  our  poor  little  pot  will  keep 
boiling,  and  shall,  though  the  Devil  himself  said  nay." 

Anticipating  slightly,  I  may  finish  here  the  adventures  of  "Sar- 
tor," or  "  Dreck,"  and  for  the  present  have  done  with  it.  Murray,  at 
Jeffrey's  instance,  had  agreed  to  take  the  book  on  the  terms  which 
Carlyle  mentioned  —  not,  however,  particularly  willingly.  Jeffrey 
himself,  who  had  good  practical  knowledge  of  such  things,  thought 
that  it  "was  too  much  of  the  nature  of  a  rhapsody  to  command 
success  or  respectful  attention."  Murray  perhaps  rather  wished  to 

>  Neither  Colburn  nor  Bentley  in  person,  as  appeared  after. 


112  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

attach  to  himself  a  young  man  of  unquestionable  genius,  whose 
works  might  be  profitable  hereafter,  than  expected  much  from  this 
immediate  enterprise.  He  decided  to  run  the  risk,  however.  The 
MS.  was  sent  to  the  printer,  and  a  page  was  set  in  type  for  consid- 
eration, when  poor  Murray,  already  repenting  of  what  he  had  done, 
heard  that  while  he  was  hesitating  "Sartor"  had  been  offered  to 
Longman,  and  had  been  declined  by  him.  He  snatched  at  the  es- 
cape, and  tried  to  end  his  bargain.  He  professed  to  think,  and 
perhaps  he  really  thought,  that  he  had  been  treated  unfairly.  The 
correspondence  that  ensued  must  have  made  Murray  more  and 
more  wonder  what  strange  being  he  was  in  contact  with,  and  may 
be  preserved  as  a  curiosity. 

To  TJwmas  Carlyle,  Esq. 

"Ramsgate:  September  17. 

"Dear  Sir, — Your  conversation  with  me  respecting  the  publica- 
tion of  your  MS.  led  me  to  infer  that  you  had  given  me  the  prefer- 
ence, and  certainly  not  that  you  had  already  submitted  it  to  the 
greatest  publishers  in  London,  who  had  declined  to  engage  in  it. 
Under  these  circumstances,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  also'to  get  it 
read  by  some  literary  friend  before  I  can,  in  justice  to  myself,  en- 
gage in  the  printing  of  it. 
"I  am,  dear  sir, 

"  Your  faithful  servant,        JOHN  MURRAY." 

The  apparent  reflection  on  a  want  of  sincerity  in  Carlyle  was  not 
altogether  generous  on  Murray's  part,  but  perhaps  only  too  natural. 

Carlyle  answers: 

To  John  Murray,  Esq. 

"Sir, — I  am  this  moment  favored  with  your  note  of  the  17th 
from  Ramsgate,  and  beg  to  say  in  reply — 

"First,  that  your  idea  derived  from  conversation  with  me  of  my 
giving  you  the  preference  to  all  other  publishers  was  perfectly  cor- 
rect: I  had  heard  you  described  as  a  man  of  honor,  frankness,  and 
even  generosity,  and  knew  you  to  have  the  best  and  widest  con- 
nections; on  which  grounds  I  might  well  say,  and  can  still  well 
say,  that  a  transaction  with  you  would  please  me  better  than  a  sim- 
ilar one  with  any  other  member  of  the  trade. 

"Secondly,  that  your  information  of  my  having  submitted  my 
manuscript  to  the  greatest  publishers  in  London,  if  you  mean  there- 
by that  after  it  first  came  out  of  your  hands  it  lay  two  days  in  those 
of  Messrs.  Longman  and  Rees,  and  was  from  them  delivered  over 
to  the  Lord-advocate,  is  also  perfectly  correct.  If  you  mean  any- 
thing else,  incorrect. 

"Thirdly,  that  if  you  wish  the  bargain  which  I  had  understood 
myself  to  have  made  with  you  unmade,  you  have  only  to  cause 
your  printer  who  is  now  working  on  my  manuscript  to  return  the 
same  without  danger  or  delay,  and  consider  the  business  as  fin- 
ished. " 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  113 

To  TJwmas  Cartyle. 

"  Albemarle  Street :  Wednesday. 

"  My  dear  Sir, — Had  I  been  informed  that  during  the  interval  in 
•which  I  had  returned  the  MS.  to  you  it  had  been  offered  to  Messrs. 
Longman  and  sent  back  after  remaining  with  them  two  days,  I  cer- 
tainly should  have  requested  permission  to  have  it  left  to  me  for 
perusal  before  I  determined  upon  its  publication,  and  I  only  wish 
to  be  placed  in  the  same  position  as  I  should  have  been  had  I  been 
previously  informed  of  that  fact. 
"  I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

"  Your  obliged  servant,  JOHN  MURRAY." 

Rmigh  Draft  of  Reply. 

"  Sir, — Though  I  cannot  well  discover  what  damage  or  alteration 
my  MS.  has  sustained  by  passing  through  the  hands  of  Messrs. 
Longman  and  Rees,  I  with  great  readiness  enter  into  your  views, 
and  shall  cheerfully  release  you  from  all  engagement,  or  shadow  of 
engagement,  with  me  in  regard  to  it,  the  rather  as  it  seems  reason- 
able for  me  to  expect  some  higher  remuneration  for  a  work  that 
has  caused  me  so  much  effort,  were  it  once  fairly  examined.  Such 
remuneration  as  was  talked  of  between  us  can,  I  believe,  at  all 
times  be  procured. 

"Perhaps  you  could  now  fix  some  date  at  which  I  might  look 
for  your  decision  on  a  quite  new  negotiation,  if  you  incline  to  en- 
gage in  such.  I  shall  then  see  whether  the  limited  extent  of  my 
time  YI  ill  still  allow  me  to  wait  yours. 

"It1  not,  pray  have  the  goodness  to  cause  my  papers  to  be  re- 
turned with  the  least  possible  delay." 

The  result  was  the  letter  from  the  "bookseller,"  enclosing  the 
critical  communication  from  his  literary  adviser,  which  Carlyle 
with  pardonable  malice  attached  as  an  appendix  to  "Sartor"  when 
it  was  ultimately  published,  and  which  has  been  thus  preserved  as 
a  singular  evidence  of  critical  fallibility.  But  neither  is  Murray  to 
be  blamed  in  the  matter,  nor  his  critic.  Their  business  was  to  as- 
certain whether  the  book,  if  published,  would  pay  for  the  printing; 
and  it  was  quite  certain,  both  that  the  taste  which  could  appreciate 
Carlyle  did  not  exist  till  he  himself  created  it,  and1  that  to  "  Sartor," 
beautiful  and  brilliant  as  it  now  seems,  the  world  would  then  have 
remained  blind.  Carlyle  himself,  proud,  scornful,  knowing,  if  no 
one  else  knew,  the  value  of  the  estimate  ' '  of  the  gentleman  in  the 
highest  class  of  men  of  letters"  who  had  been  consulted  in  the 
matter,  judged  Murray,  after  his  fashion,  far  too  harshly.  In  a  let- 
ter to  his  wife  he  says : 

"The  printing  of  '  Teufelsdrockh,'  which  I  announced  as  com- 
mencing, and  even  sent  you  a  specimen  of,  has  altogether  stopped, 
and  Murray's  bargain  with  me  has  burst  into  air.  The  man  be- 
haved like  a  pig,  and  was  speared,  not  perhaps  without  art;  Jack 


114  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  I  at  least  laughed  that  night  d  gorge  deployee  at  the  answer  I 
wrote  his  base  glare  of  a  letter:  he  has  written  again  in  mucli  po- 
liter style,  and  I  shall  answer  him,  as  McLeod  advised  my  grand- 
father's people,  'sharp  but  mannerly.'  The  truth  of  the  matter  is 
now  clear  enough ;  '  Dreck '  cannot  be  disposed  of  in  London  at  this 
time.  Whether  he  lie  in  my  trunk  or  in  a  bookseller's  coffer  seems 
partly  indifferent.  Neither,  on  the  whole,  do  I  know  whether  it  is 
not  better  that  we  have  stopped  for  the  present.  Money  I  was  to 
have  none;  author's  vanity  embarked  on  that  bottom  I  have  almost 
none;  nay,  some  time  or  other  that  the  book  can  be  so  disposed 
of  it  is  certain  enough." 

Carlyle  was  not  alone  in  his  contempt  for  the  existing  literary 
taste.  Macvey  Napier,  to  whom  he  had  expressed  an  opinion  that 
the  public  had  been  for  some  time  "fed  with  froth,"  and  was  get- 
ting tired  of  it,  agreed  that  "he  saw  no  indication  in  that  vast 
body  of  any  appetite  for  solid  aliments."  Nay,  he  added  (and  the 
words  deserve  to  be  remarked),  "I  am  thoroughly  convinced  that 
were  another  Gibbon  to  appear  and  produce  another  such  work  as 
the  "Decline  and  Fall,"  the  half  of  an  impression  of  750  copies 
would  be  left  to  load  the  shelves  of  its  publisher." 

The  article  on  Luther  which  Carlyle  had  offered  for  the  Edin- 
burgh could  not  get  itself  accepted.  Napier  recognized  that  Luther 
was  a  noble  subject,  but  he  could  not  spare  space  for  the  effective 
treatment  of  it.  He  recommended  instead  a  review  of  Thomas 
Hope's  book  on  Man;  and  Carlyle,  accepting  the  change,  made 
Hope  the  text  for  the  paper  which  he  called  "Characteristics." 
This  essay,  more  profound  and  far-reaching  even  than  "Sartor," 
was  written  in  these  autumn  weeks  in  London.. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
A.D.  1831.     MT.  36. 

MRS.  CARLYLE  had  entered  eagerly  into  the  scheme  for  joining- 
her  husband  in  London.  Six  weeks'  solitude  at  Craigenputtock, 
with  strangers  now  in  occupation  of  the  farm,  had  tried  even  her 
fortitude  beyond  her  strength,  and  Alick  and  Jean  Carlyle  had  gone 
from  Scotsbrig  to  take  care  of  her. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Craigenputtock:  September,  1831. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  kind  mother,  for  sending  Jean  and 
Alick  to  my  rescue.  If  some  such  mercy  had  not  been  vouchsafed 
me,  I  think  I  must  soon  have  worked  myself  into  a  fever  or  other 
violent  disorder;  for  my  talent  for  fancying  things,  which  is  quite  as 
great  as  your  own,  had  so  entirely  got  the  upperhand  of  me  that  I 
could  neither  sleep  by  night  nor*  rest  by  day.  I  have  slept  more, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  115 

since  they  came  and  have  kept  me  from  falling  into  dreams,  than  I 
had  done  for  a  fortnight  before. 

"  I  have  news,  if  you  have  not  heard  it  already,  more  joyful  to  me, 
I  suspect,  than  to  you :  I  am  going  to  my  husband,  and  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  ready  for  leaving.  Now  do  not  grieve  that  he  is  not  to  return 
so  soon  as  we  expected.  I  am  sure  it  is  for  his  good,  and,  therefore, 
for  all  our  goods.  Here  he  was  getting  more  and  more  unhappy, 
more  and  more  dissatisfied  with  the  world  and  himself.  I  durst  not 
have  counselled  him  to  such  a  step;  but  whenever  he  proposed  it  him- 
self, I  cordially  approved.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  this  and 
other  matters  when  I  come  and  see  you  all  again  before  I  set  out. 

"Carlyle  wants  me  to  bring  some  butter,  oatmeal,  etc.,  which  are 
not  to  be  got  good  in  London  for  love  or  money,  and  without  the 
smallest  remorse  I  apply  to  you  to  help  me.  I  hate  some  butter  of 
our  own  cows ;  but  as  it  has  been  salted  in  small  quantities,  some- 
times in  warm  weather  and  by  my  own  hands,  which  are  not  the 
most  expert,  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  good  enough;  at  all  rates,  in- 
ferior to  the  Scotsbrig  thing. 

"Jean  is  going  with  me  to  Templand  to-day,  as  a  sort  of  protec- 
tion against  my  mother's  agitations.  Next  week  she  will  help  me 
to  pack.  Your  affectionate  JAKE  W.  CARLYLE." 

Carlyle,  meanwhile,  continued  his  account  of  himself  in  his  letters. 
Napier  had  not  then  written  conclusively  about  his  article,  and  he 
was  restless. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Craigenputtock. 

"London:  September  11. 

"  My  days  flow  rather  uselessly  along.  If  Naso  do  not  write  soon, 
I  will  seek  some  other  task,  were  it  the  meanest.  No  one  can  force 
you  to  be  idle,  but  only  yourself.  Neither  is  the  world  shut  against 
any  one;  but  it  is  HE  that  is  shut.  God  grant  us  some  little  touch 
of  wisdom ;  let  Fate  turn  up  what  card  she  likes,  so  we  can  play  it 
well.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  yet  much  to  suffer,  but  also  something  to  do. 
E)o  thou  help  me,  my  little  woman ;  thou  art  worthy  of  that  destiny, 
and  perhaps  it  is  appointed  thee.  These  are  fearful  times,  yet  is 
there  greatness  in  them.  Now  is  the  hour  when  he  that  feels  him- 
self a  man  should  stand  forth  and  prove  himself  such.  Oh,  could  I 
but  live  in  the  light  of  that  holy  purpose  and  keep  it  ever  present 
before  me,  I  were  happy — too  happy ! 

"Meanwhile,  unfortunately  for  these  many  months,  and  now  as 
formerly,  I  am  rather  wicked.  Alas!  Why  should  I  dwell  in  the 
element  of  contempt  and  indignation,  not  rather  in  that  of  patience 
and  love?  I  was  reading  in  Luther's  'Tischreden,'  and  absolutely 
felt  ashamed.  What  have  I  suffered?  What  did  he  suffer?  One 
should  actually,  as  Irving  advises,  '  pray  to  the  Lord, '  did  one  but 
know  how  to  do  it.  The  lest  worship,  however,  is  stout  working. 
Frisch  zu  ! 

"  I  have  not  seen  the  Duke  for  a  week.  I  acknowledge  in  mvself  a 
certain  despicable  tendency  to  think  crabbedly  of  the  poor  Duke ; 
a  quite  vulgar  feeling  it  is.  Merely  as  if  he  were  not  kind  enough 
to  me.  Is  he  not  kinder  than  most  other  men  are?  Shaine  on  me  ! 


116  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Out  of  various  motives,  among  which  love  is  not  wholly  wanting, 
he  really  wishes  to  do  me  good.  Are  not  all  others  of  his  order  in- 
different to  me?  Should  not  he  be  at  all  times  more  and  not  less? 
Yet  his  path  is  not  my  path,  nor  are  his  thoughts  my  thoughts.  It 
is  more  and  more  clear  to  me  that  we  shall  never  do  any  good  to- 
gether. Let  him  come  and  sit  with  you  in  that  '  flower- pot  tub,'  if 
he  like;  let  us  do  him  what  kindness  we  can,  which  is  not  much, 
and  stand  ever  with  kind  looks  in  that  direction,  yet  always,  too,  on 
our  side  of  the  Strand.  Frivolous  gigmanity  cannot  unite  itself  to 
our  stern  destiny;  let  it  pass  by  on  the  other  side.  But  oh,  my  dear 
Jeannie,  do  help  me  to  be  a  little  softer,  to  be  a  little  merciful  to  all 
men,  even  gigmen.  Why  should  a  man,  though  bilious,  never  so 
'nervous,'  impoverished,  bug-bitten,  and  bedevilled,  let  Satan  have 
dominion  over  him?  Save  me,  save  me,  my  Goody!  It  is  on  this 
side  that  I  am  threatened;  nevertheless  we  will  prevail,  I  tell  thee: 
by  God's  grace  we  will  and  shall." 

"September  14. 

"On  Monday  night  I  walked  round  from  putting  in  your  letter 
and  borrowed  me  the  last  Quarterly  Review,  to  read  the  article 
there  on  the  Saint-Simonians,  by  Southey;  it  is  an  altogether  miser- 
able article,  written  in  the  spirit  not  of  a  philosopher,  but  of  a  parish 
precentor.  He  knows  what  they  are  not,  so  far,  at  least,  as  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  go;  but  nothing  whatsoever  of  what  they  are. 
'  My  brother,  I  say  unto  thee,  thou  art  a  poor  creature. '  The  rest 
of  the  Review  is  also  despicable  enough  —  blind,  shovel-hatted, 
hysterically  lachrymose.  Lockhart,  it  seems,  edits  it  out  of  Rox- 
burghshire, rusticating  by  some  '  burn '  in  that  country.  Tuesday 
night  John  Mill  came  in  and  sate  talking  with  me  till  near  eleven — 
a  fine  clear  enthusiast,  who  will  one  day  come  to  something;  yet  to 
nothing  poetical,  I  think:  his  fancy  is  not  rich;  furthermore,  he 
cannot  laugh  with  any  compass.  You  will  like  Mill.  Glen  *  is  a 
man  of  greatly  more  natural  material;  but  hitherto  he  is  like  a  blind 
Cyclops,  ill  educated,  yet  capable  of  good  education;  he  may,  per- 
haps, reap  great  profit  from  us. 

' '  Edward  Irving  is  graver  than  usual,  yet  has  still  the  old  faculty 
of  laughter;  on  the  whole,  a  true,  sufficient  kind  of  man,  very  anx- 
ious to  have  me  stay  here,  where,  '  in  two  years  or  so,'  I  should  not 
fail  to  find  some  appointment.  What  I  lament  is  that  such  a  mind 
should  not  be  in  the  van,  but  wilfully  standing  in  the  rear,  bringing 
up  the  tag-rag  and  bobtail,  however  well  he  do  it.  '  .Miracles'  are 
the  commonest  things  in  the  world  here.  Irving  said  to  Glen, 
'Wlien  I  work  miracles.'  He  and  I  have  never  fastened  upon  that 
topic  yet,  but  by-and-by  he  shall  hear  my  whole  mind  on  it,  for  he 
deserves  such  confidence. 

"I  gave  your  compliments  to  Empson,  who  received  them  with 
wreathed  smiles  and  mumbles  of  heartiest  welcome.  I  think  you 
will  like  him — a  bushy-faced  kind-looking  creature  with  most  mel- 

1  "Glen,  who  was  mentioned  before,  was  a  young  graduate  of  Glasgow  studying  law 
in  London,  of  very  considerable  though  utterly  confused  talent.  Ultimately  went  mad, 
and  was  boarded  in  a  farm-house  nea.r  Craigenputtock,  within  reach  of  us,  where  in. 
Beveu  or  eight  years  he  died. — T.  C." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  117 

ancholy  short-sighted  eyes.  He  is  from  Lincolnshire ;  walks  much, 
I  take  it,  with  women,  men  being  too  harsh  and  contradictory  with 
him.  He  was  sitting  in  yellow  nightgown,  without  neckcloth, 
shaggy  enough,  and  writing  with  his  whole  might  for  Naso  [Na- 
pier]. 

"Of  Macaulay  I  hear  nothing  very  good — a  sophistical,  rhetorical, 
ambitious  young  man  of  talent ;  '  set  in  there, '  as  Mill  said,  '  to  make 
flash  speeches,  and  he  makes  them.'  It  seems  to  me  of  small  conse- 
quence whether  we  meet  at  all." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"September  19,  1831. 

"My  dear  Mother, — .  .  .  Jane  will  have  told  you  how  languidly 
everything  proceeds  with  me;  how  the  '  people  are  all  out  of  town,' 
everything  stagnating  because  of  this  Reform  Bill— the  book  trade,  in 
particular,  nearly  altogether  at  a  standstill;  and,  lastly,  how  I,  as  the 
best  thing  I  could  do,  have  been  obliged  to  give  my  poor  book  away 
(that  is,  the  first  edition  of  it), J  and  am  even  glad  to  see  it  printed  on 
these  terms.  This  is  not  very  flattering  news  of  the  encourage- 
ment for  men  of  my  craft;  nevertheless,  I  study  to  say  with  as  much 
cheerfulness  as  I  can,  Be  it  so  !  The  Giver  of  all  Good  has  enabled 
me  to  write  the  thing,  and  also  to  do  without  any  pay  for  it:  the  pay 
would  have  been  wasted  away  and  flitted  out  of  the  bit  as  other  pay 
does;  but  if  there  stand  any  truth  recorded  there,  it  will  not  'flit.' 
Nay,  if  there  be  even  no  truth  (as  where  is  the  man  that  can  say  with 
confidence  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty  has  given  me  understand- 
ing), yet  it  was  the  nearest  approach  to  such  that  I  could  make ;  and 
so,  in  God's  name,  let  it  take  its  fortune  in  the  world,  and  sink  or 
swim  as  the  All-disposer  orders.  There  remains  forever  the  maxim 
•  In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  Him.' 

"I  am  earnestly  expecting  Jane,  that  some  sort  of  establishment 
may  be  formed  here,  where  we  can  spend  the  winter  with  more  regu- 
larity and  composure  than  I  have  hitherto  enjoyed.  Then  we  can 
look  about  us  over  this  whirlpool,  and  I,  in  the  meantime,  shall  most 
probably  write  some  considerable  essay  for  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
that  so,  when  we  return,  Mall  may  not  be  altogether  out  of  shaft*. 
Of  any  permanent  appointment  here  I  as  yet  see,  with  my  own  eyes, 
not  the  slightest  outlook;  neither,  indeed,  is  my  heart  set  on  such, 
for  I  feel  that  the  King's  palace  with  all  it  holds  would  in  good  truth 
do  little  for  me ;  and  the  prayer  I  ever  endeavor  to  make  is,  '  Show  me 
my  duty,  and  enable  me  to  do  it.'  If  my  duty  be  to  endure  a  life  of 
poverty  and  what  '  light  afflictions '  attend  on  it,  this  also  will  not 
terrify  me. 

"  Meanwhile,  I  am  not  without  my  comforts;  one  of  the  greatest 
of  which  is  to  have  found  various  well-disposed  men,  most  of  them 
young  men,  who  can  feel  a  sort  of  scholarship  towards  me.  My 
poor  performances  in  the  writing  way  are  better  known  here  than  I 
expected;  clearly  enough,  also,  there  is  want  of  instruction  and  light 
in  this  mirk  midnight  of  human  affairs ;  such  want  as  probably  for 
eighteen  hundred  years  there  has  not  been.  If  /  have  any  light  to 

1  This  was  written  a  day  or  two  before  the  final  collapse  with  Murray. 


118  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

give  them,  let  me  give  it;  if  none,  then  what  is  to  be  done  but  seek 
for  it,  and  hold  my  peace  till  I  find  it." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Liverpool.1 

"  London :  September  23. 

' '  My  poor  Goody, — All  yesterday  my  thoughts  were  with  thee  in  thy 
lone  voyage,  which  now  I  pray  the  great  Giver  of  Good  may  have 
terminated  prosperously.  Never  before  did  I  so  well  understand  my 
mother's  anxious  forecasting  ways.  I  felt  that  my  best  possession 
was  trusted  to  the  false  sea,  and  all  my  cares  for  it  could  avail  noth- 
ing. Do  not  wait  a  moment  in  writing.  I  shall  have  no  peace  till 
I  know  that  you  are  safe.  Meanwhile,  in  truth  there  is  no  use  in 
tormenting  myself;  the  weather,  here  at  least,  was  good.  I  struggle 
while  I  can  to  believe  that  it  has  all  passed  without  accident,  and 
that  you  are  now  resting  in  comparative  safety  in  your  uncle's  house 
among  friends. 

"  Of  rest  I  can  well  understand  you  have  need  enough.  I  grieve  to 
think  how  harassed  you  have  been  of  late,  all  which,  I  fear,  has 
acted  badly  on  your  health;  these  bustlings  and  tossings  to  and  fro 
are  far  too  rough  work  for  you.  I  can  see,  by  your  two  last  letters 
especially,  that  it  is  not  well  with  you;  your  heart  is,  as  it  were, 
choked  up,  if  not  depressed.  You  are  agitated  and  provoked,  which 
is  almost  the  worse  way  of  the  two.  Alas!  and  I  have  no  soft  Alad- 
din's Palace  here  to  bid  you  hasten  and  take  repose  in.  Nothing 
but  a  noisy,  untoward  lodging-house,  and  no  better  shelter  than  my 
own  bosom.  Yet  is  not  this  the  best  of  all  shelters  for  you?  the 
only  safe  place  in  this  wide  world?  Thank  God,  this  still  is  yours, 
and  I  can  receive  you  there  without  distrust,  and  wrap  you  close 
with  the  solacements  of  a  true  heart's  love.  Hasten  thither,  then, 
my  own  wife.  Betide  what  may,  we  will  not  despair,  were  the 
world  never  so  unfriendly.  We  are  indivisible,  and  will  help  each 
other  to  endure  its  evils — nay,  to  conquer  them." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  arrived  in  London  on  the  1st  of  October,  a  good  deal 
shattered  by  the  journey  and  the  charge  of  the  miscellaneous  cargo 
of  luggage  which  she  had  brought  with  her:  oatmeal,  hams,  butter, 
etc.,  supplied  by  the  generous  Scotsbrig  to  lighten  the  expense  of 
the  London  winter.  George  Irving's  lodgings,  being  found  to  con- 
tain bugs,  were  exchanged  for  others.  John  Carlyle  departed  with 
Lady  Clare  for  Italy.  Carlyle  and  his  wife  quartered  themselves  at 
Ampton  Street,  turning  out  of  Gray's  Inn  Road,  where  they  had 
two  comfortable  rooms  in  the  house  of  an  excellent  family  named 
Miles,  who  belonged  to  Irving's  congregation.  Here  friends  came 
to  see  them:  Mill,  Empson,  later  on  Leigh  Hunt,  drawn  by  the  arti- 
cle on  Hope  ("  Characteristics  ")  which  Carlyle  was  now  assiduously 
writing,  Jeffrey,  and  afterwards  many  more,  the  Carlyles  going  out 
into  society,  and  reconnoitring  literary  London.  Mrs.  Carlyle  in 
her  way  was  as  brilliant  as  her  husband  was  in  his  own;  she  at- 

1  His  wife  had  gone  by  water  from  Annan  to  her  uncle's  house  at  Liverpool:  from 
thence  to  proceed  by  coach  to  London. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  119 

trading  every  one,  he  wondered  at  as  a  prodigy,  which  the  world 
was  yet  uncertain  whether  it  was  to  love  or  execrate. 

Carlyle's  Journal  tells  us  generally  what  was  passing  within  him 
and  round  him,  how  London  affected  him,  etc.  His  and  Mrs.  Car- 
lyle's letters  fill  out  the  picture. 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

' '  October  10. — Wife  arrived  ten  days  ago.  We  here  quietly  enough 
in  4  Ampton  Street,  and  the  world  jogging  on  at  the  old  rate.  Jack 
must  be  by  this  time  in  Paris.  '  Teufelsdrockh, '  after  various  per- 
plexed destinies,  returned  to  me,  and  now  lying  safe  in  his  box.  The 
book  contents  me  little;  yet  perhaps  there  is  material  in  it;  hi  any 
case,  I  did  my  best." 

"The  Reform  Bill  lost  (on  Saturday  morning  at  six  o'clock)  by  a 
majority  of  forty-one.  The  politicians  will  have  it  the  people  must 
rise.  The  people  will  do  nothing  half  so  foolish — for  the  present. 
London  seems  altogether  quiet.  Here  they  are  afraid  of  Scotland, 
in  Scotland  of  us." 

"  On  Saturday  saw  Sir  James  Mackintosh  (at  Jeffrey's),  and  looked 
at  and  listened  to  him,  though  without  speech.  A  broadish,  middle- 
sized,  gray-headed  man,  well  dressed,  and  with  a  plain  courteous 
bearing;  gray  intelligent  (unhealthy  yellow-whited)  eyes,  in  which 
plays  a  dash  of  cautious  vivacity  (uncertain  whether  fear  or  latent 
ire) ;  triangular  unmeaning  nose,  business  mouth  and  chin:  on  the 
whole,  a  sensible  official  air,  not  without  a  due  spicing  of  hypocrisy 
and  something  of  pedantry,  both,  no  doubt,  involuntary.  The  ruau 
is  a  Whig  philosopher  and  politician,  such  -as  the  time  yields,  our 
best  of  that  sort,  which  will  soon  be  extinct.  He  was  talking  mys- 
teriously with  other  'Hon.  Members'  about  'what  was  to  bo  done' 
— something  a  la  Dogberry  the  thing  looked  to  me,  though  I  deny 
not  that  it  is  a  serious  conjuncture,  only  believe  that  change  has  some 
chance  to  be  for  the  better,  and  so  see  it  all  with  composure. " 

"Meanwhile,  what  was  the  true  duty  of  a  man?  Were  it  to  stand 
utterly  aloof  from  politics  (not  ephemeral  only,  for  that  of  course, 
but  generally  from  all  speculation  about  social  systems,  etc.),  or  is 
not,  perhaps,  the  very  want  of  this  time  an  infinite  want  of  governors, 
of  knowledge  how  to  govern  itself?  Canst  thou  in  any  measure 
spread  abroad  reverence  over  the  hearts  of  men?  That  were  a  far 
higher  task  than  any  other.  Is  it  to  be  done  by  art?  or  are  men's 
minds  as  yet  shut  to  art,  and  open  only  at  best  to  oratory?  not  fit  for 
a  Meister,  but  only  for  a  better  and  better  Teufelsdrockh  f  Think  and 
be  silent." 

"  '  Mary  Wollstonecraft's  Life '  by  Godwin.  An  Ariel  imprisoned 
in  a  brickbat!  It  is  a  real  tragedy,  and  of  the  deepest.  Sublimely 
virtuous  endowment ;  in  practice,  misfortune,  suffering,  death  .  .  . 
by  destiny,  and  also  by  desert.  An  English  Mignon;  Godwin  an 
honest  boor  that  loves  her,  but  cannot  guide  or  save  her." 

"  Strange  tendency  everywhere  noticeable  to  speculate  on  men, 
not  on  man.  Another  branch  of  the  mechanical  temper.  Vain  hope 


120  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

to  make  mankind  happy  by  politics  !  You  cannot  drill  a  regiment  of 
knaves  into  a  regiment  of  honest  men,  enregiment  and  organize  them 
as  cunningly  as  you  will.  Give  us  the  honest  men,  and  the  well- 
ordered  regiment  comes  of  itself.  Reform  one  man — reform  thy 
own  inner  man ;  it  is  more  than  scheming  out  reforms  for  a  nation. " 

"John  told  me  of  having  seen  in  Holborn  a  man  walking  steadily 
along  with  some  six  baskets  all  piled  above  each  other,  his  name  and 
address  written  in  large  characters  on  each,  so  that  he  exhibited  a 
statue  of  some  twelve  feet,  and  so  by  the  six  separate  announcements 
had  his  existence  sufficiently  proclaimed.  The  trade  of  this  man 
was  basket-making ;  but  he  had  found  it  needful  to  study  a  quite 
new  trade — that  of  walking  with  six  baskets  on  his  head  in  a  crowd- 
ed street." 

"In like  manner,  Colburn and Bentley,  the  booksellers,  are  known 
to  expend  ten  thousand  pounds  annually  on  what  they  call  adver- 
tising, more  commonly  called  puffing.  Puffing  (which  is  simply  the 
second  trade,  like  that  of  basket-carrying)  flourishes  in  all  countries ; 
but  London  is  the  true  scene  of  it,  having  this  one  quality  beyond 
all  other  cities — a  quite  immeasurable  size.  It  is  rich  also,  stupid, 
and  ignorant  beyond  example;  thus  in  all  respects  the  true  Goshen 
of  quacks." 

"Every  man  I  meet  with  mourns  over  this  state  of  matters;  no 
one  thinks  it  remediable.  You  must  do  as  the  others  do,  or  they 
will  get  the  start  of  you  or  tread  you  underfoot.  'All  true,  Mr. 
Carlyle  BUT:'  I  say,  'All  true,  Mr.  Carlyle  AND.'  The  first  begin- 
ning of  a  remedy  is  that  some  one  believe  a  remedy  possible ;  believe 
that  if  he  cannot  live  by  truth,  then  he  can  die  by  it.  Dost  thou  be- 
lieve it?  Then  is  the  new  era  begun  !" 

"  How  men  are  hurried  here;  how  they  are  hunted  and  terrifically 
chased  into  double-quick  speed ;  so  that  in  self-defence  they  must  not 
stay  to  look  at  one  another  !  Miserable  is  the  scandal-mongery  and 
evil-speaking  of  the  country  population :  more  frightful  still  the  total 
ignorance  and  mutual  heedlessness  of  these  poor  souls  in  populous 
city  pent.  '  Each  passes  on,  quick,  transient,  regarding  not  the  other 
or  his  woes.'  Each  must  button  himself  together,  and  take  no 
thought  (not  even  for  evil)  of  his  neighbor.  There  in  their  little 
cells,  divided  by  partitions  of  brick  or  board,  they  sit  strangers,  un- 
knowing, unknown,  like  passengers  in  some  huge  ship ;  each  within, 
his  own  cabin.  Alas  !  and  the  ship  is  life;  and  the  voyage  is  from 
eternity  to  eternity." 

"  Everywhere  there  is  the  most  crying  want  of  government,  a  true 
all-ruining  anarchy.  No  one  has  any  knowledge  of  London,  in  which 
he  lives.  It  is  a  huge  aggregate  of  little  systems,  each  of  which  is 
again  a  small  anarchy,  the  members  of  which  do  not  work  together, 
but  scramble  against  each  other.  The  soul  (what  can  be  properly 
called  the  soul)  lies  dead  in  the  bosom  of  man ;  starting  out  in  mad, 
ghastly  night-walkings — e.  g.  the  gift  of  tongues.  Ignorance  eclipses 
all  things  with  its  owlet  wings.  Man  walks  he  knows  not  whither; 
walks  and  wanders  till  he  walks  into  the  jaws  of  death,  and  is  then 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CAKLYLE.  121 

devoured.  Nevertheless,  God  is  in  it.  Here,  even  here,  is  the  reve- 
lation of  the  Infinite  in  the  Finite ;  a  majestic  poem  (tragic,  comic, 
or  epic),  couldst  thou  but  read  it  or  recite  it!  Watch  it  then;  study 
it;  catch  the  secret  of  it;  and  proclaim  the  same  in  such  accent  as  is 
given  thee.  Alas  !  the  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak." 

"On  Thursday  night  last  (this  is  Monday),  the  28th  of  October, 
dined  with  Fonblanque,  editor  of  the  Examiner.  An  honorable 
Radical;  might  be  something  better.  London -bred.  Limited  by 
education  more  than  by  nature.  Something  metallic  in  the  tone  of 
his  voice  (like  that  of  Professor  Austin).  For  the  rest,  a  tall,  loose, 
lank-haired,  wrinkly,  wintry,  vehement-looking  flail  of  a  man.  I 
reckon  him  the  best  of  the  fourth  estate  now  extant  in  Britain. 
Shall  see  him  again. " 

"Allan  Cunningham  with  us  last  night.  Jane  calls  him  a  genuine 
Dumfriesshire  mason  still;  and  adds  that  it  is  delightful  to  see  a 
genuine  man  of  any  sort.  Allan  was,  as  usual,  full  of  Scottish  anec- 
dotic talk.  Right  by  instinct ;  has  no  principles  or  creed  that  I  can 
see,  but  excellent  old  Scottish  Juibite  of  character.  An  interesting 
man." 

"Walter  Scott  left  town  yesterday  on  his  way  to  Naples.  He  is 
to  proceed  from  Plymouth  in  a  frigate,  which  the  government  have 
given  him  a  place  in.  Much  run  after  here,  it  seems;  but  he  is  old 
and  sick,  and  cannot  enjoy  it;  has  had  two  shocks  of  palsy,  and 
seems  altogether  in  a  precarious  way.  To  me  he  is  and  has  been 
an  object  of  very  minor  interest  for  many,  many  years.  The  novel- 
wright  of  his  time,  its  favorite  child,  and  therefore  an  almost  worth- 
less one.  Yet  is  there  something  in  his  deep  recognition  of  the 
worth  of  the  past,  perhaps  better  than  anything  he  has  expressed 
about  it,  into  which  I  do  not  yet  fully  see.  Have  never  spoken 
with  him  (though  I  might  sometimes  without  great  effort) ;  and  now 
probably  never  shall." 

"What  an  advantage  has  the  pulpit  where  you  address  men 
already  arranged  to  hear  you,  and  in  a  vehicle  which  long  use  has 
rendered  easy !  How  infinitely  harder  when  you  have  all  to  create — 
not  the  ideas  only  and  the  sentiments,  but  the  symbols  and  the 
mood  of  mind!  Nevertheless,  in  all  cases  where  man  addresses  man, 
on  his  spiritual  interests  especially,  there  is  a  sacredness,  could  we 
but  evolve  it,  and  think  and  speak  in  it.  Consider  better  what  it  is 
thou  meanest  by  a  symbol;  how  far  thou  hast  insight  into  the  nature 
thereof." 

"Is  Art  va.  the  old  Greek  sense  possible  for  men  at  this  late  era? 
or  were  not  perhaps  the  founder  of  a  religion  our  true  Homer  at 

E resent?    The  whole  soul  must  be  illuminated,  made  harmonious, 
hakespeare  seems  to  have  had  no  religion  but  his  poetry. " 

"Where  is  To-morrow  resident  even  now?  Somewhere  or  some- 
how it  is,  doubt  not  of  that.  On  the  common  theory  thou  mayest 
think  thyself  into  madness  on  this  question." 

II.— 6 


122  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"November  2. — How  few  people  speak  for  Truth's  sake,  even  in 
its  humblest  modes!  I  return  from  Enfield,  where  I  have  seen 
Lamb,  etc.,  etc.  Not  one  of  that  class  will  tell  you  a  straightforward 
story,  or  even  a  credible  one,  about  any  matter  under  the  sun.  All 
must  be  packed  up  into  epigrammatic  contrasts,  startling  exaggera- 
tions, claptraps  that  will  get  a  plaudit  from  the  galleries!  I  have 
heard  a  hundred  anecdotes  about  William  Hazlitt,  for  example;  yet 
cannot  by  never  so  much  cross-questioning  even  form  to  myself  the 
smallest  notion  of  how  it  really  stood  with  him.  Wearisome,  inex- 
pressibly wearisome  to  me  is  that  sort  of  clatter;  it  is  not  walking 
(to  the  end  of  time  you  would  never  advance,  for  these  persons  in- 
deed have  no  WHITHER);  it  is  not  bounding  and  frisking  in  graceful, 
natural  joy;  it  is  dancing — a  St.  Vitus's  dance.  Heigh-ho!  Charles 
Lamb  I  sincerely  believe  to  be  in  some  considerable  degree  insane.  A 
more  pitiful,  rickety,  gasping,  staggering,  stammering  tomfool  I  do 
not  know.  He  is  witty  by  denying  truisms  and  abjuring  good  manners. 
His  speech  wriggles  hither  and  thither  with  an  incessant  painful 
fluctuation,  not  an  opinion  in  it,  or  a  fact,  or  a  phrase  that  you  can 
thank  him  for — more  like  a  convulsion  fit  than  a  natural  systole  and 
diastole.  Besides,  he  is  now  a  confirmed,  shameless  drunkard ;  asks 
vehemently  for  gin-and-water  in  strangers'  houses,  tipples  till  he  is 
utterly  mad,  and  is  only  not  thrown  out  of  doors  because  he  is  too 
much  despised  for  taking  such  trouble  with  him.  Poor  Lamb  ! 
Poor  England,  when  such  a  despicable  abortion  is  named  genius  ! 
He  said,  there  are  just  two  things  I  regret  in  England's  history:  first, 
that  Guy  Fawkes's  plot  did  not  take  effect  (there  would  have  been  so 
glorious  an  explosion);  second,  that  the  Royalists  did  not  hang  Milton 
(then  we  might  have  laughed  at  them),  etc.,  etc.  Armer  Teufel!" 

Carlyle  did  not  know  at  this  time  the  tragedy  lying  behind  the 
life  of  Charles  Lamb,  which  explained  or  extenuated  his  faults. 
Yet  this  extravagantly  harsh  estimate  is  repeated — scarcely  qualified 
— in  a  sketch  written  nearly  forty  years  after. 

"  Among  the  scrambling  miscellany  of  notables  that  hovered 
about  us,  Leigh  Hunt  was  probably  the  best,  poor  Charles  Lamb 
the  worst.  He  was  sinking  into  drink,  poor  creature;  his  fraction 
of  'humor,' etc.,  I  recognized,  and  recognize — but  never  could  ac- 
cept for  a  great  thing,  a  genuine  but  essentially  small  and  Cockney 
thing;  and  now, with  gin,  etc.,  superadded,  one  had  to  say  '  Genius  ! 
This  is  not  genius,  but  diluted  insanity.  Please  remove  this  ! ' " 

The  gentle  Elia  deserved  a  kinder  judgment.  Carlyle  considered 
"  humor  "  to  be  the  characteristic  of  the  highest  order  of  mind.  He 
had  heard  Lamb  extravagantly  praised,  perhaps,  for  this  particular 
quality,  and  he  was  provoked  to  find  it  combined  with  habits  which 
his  own  stern  Calvinism  was  unable  to  tolerate. 

To  return  to  the  letters : 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ScotsMg. 

"  4  Ampton  Street,  Mecklenburgh  Square,  London  :  October  20, 1831. 

"  My  dear  Mother, — We  have  nestled  down  here  in  our  tight  little 
lodging,  and  are  as  quiet  as  we  could  wish  to  be.  Jane  is  in  better 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  123 

health  than  she  has  enjoyed  for  many  months ;  I,  too,  am  fully  better. 
We  live  thriftily,  have  companions  and  conversation  of  the  best  that 
can  be  had;  and  except  that  I  cannot  honestly  tell  myself  that  I  am 
working  (though  I  daily  make  the  attempt  to  work  and  keep  scraf- 
fling  and  feltering),  we  ought  to  call  ourselves  very  well  off  indeed. 
The  people  of  the  house  are  cleanly,  orderly,  and  seem  honest — no 
noises,  no  bugs  disturb  us  through  the  night;  on  the  whole,  it  is 
among  the  best  places  for  sleep  I  have  been  in,  as  you  may  judge  by 
this  fact,  that  more  than  once  we  have  slept  almost  ten  hours  at  a 
stretch — a  noble  spell  of  sleeping,  of  which,  however,  both  of  us,  so 
long  disturbed  and  tost  about,  had  need  enough.  The  worst  thing 
about  our  establishment  is  its  hamperedness,  which  is  so  much  the 
more  sensible  to  us  coming  from  the  desert  vastness  of  the  moor  at 
Craigenputtock.  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling  as  if  I  were  tied  up  in  a 
sack  and  could  not  get  my  fins  stirred.  No  doubt  this  will  wear  off, 
for  one  needs  but  little  room  to  work  profitably  in;  my  craft  espe- 
cially requires  nothing  but  a  chair,  a  table,  and  a  piece  of  paper. 
Were  I  once  fairly  heated  at  my  work,  I  shall  not  mind  what  sort 
of  harness  I  am  in.  Napier  writes  to  me  that  he  expects  a  '  striking 
essay '  from  my  hand  for  his  next  Edinburgh  Review,  so  I  must  be- 
stir me,  for  there  is  little  more  than  a  month  to  work  in. 

"  Some  of  my  friends  here  are  talking  of  possible  situations  for  me, 
but  as  yet  on  no  ground  that  I  can  fairly  see  with  my  own  eyes.  I 
let  it  be  known  to  every  one  who  takes  interest  in  me  that  I  am  very 
desirous  to  work  at  any  honest  employment  I  am  acquainted  with ;  but 
for  the  rest,  able  to  hold  on  my  way  whether  I  find  other  employment 
or  not.  If  I  can  earn  myself  a  more  liberal  livelihood,  I  hope  I  shall 
be  thankful  for  it,  and  use  it  as  it  beseems  me ;  nay,  I  would  even  live 
in  London  for  the  sake  of  such  a  blessing;  but  if  nothing  of  the  kind 
turn  up,  as  is  most  likely,  then  I  can  also,  with  all  contentment,  re- 
turn to  the  Whinstone  Craig,  and  rejoice  that  this  city  of  refuge  is 
left  me.  Truly  thankful  ought  I  to  be  that  the  Giver  of  all  Good 
has  imparted  to  me  this  highest  of  all  blessings;  light  to  discern  His 
hand  in  the  confused  workings  of  this  evil  world ;  and  to  follow  fear- 
lessly whithersoever  He  beckons!  Ever  be  praised  God  for  it!  I 
was  once  the  miserablest  of  all  men,  but  shall  not  be  so  any  more. 
On  the  whole,  however,  there  is  work  hi  abundance  for  me  here — 
men  ignorant,  on  all  hands  of  me,  of  what  it  most  concerns  them  to 
know ;  neither  will  I  turn  me  from  the  task  of  teaching  them  as  it  is 
given  me.  Had  I  once  investigated  the  ground  fully,  I  may  perhaps 
lift  up  my  voice  so  that  it  shall  be  heard  a  little  farther  than  hereto- 
fore. But  I  wish  to  do  nothing  rashly,  to  take  no  step  which  I  might 
wish  in  vain  to  retrace. 

"Meanwhile,  my  book,  withdrawn  from  all  bookselling  consulta- 
tions, lies  safe  in  the  box,  waiting  till  the  book-trade  revive  before  I 
make  a  farther  attempt.  The  Reform  Sill,  I  suppose,  must  be  dis- 
posed of  first;  and  when  that  may  be  I  know  not,  neither,  indeed, 
care.  If  the  world  will  not  have  my  bit-book,  then,  of  a  truth,  my 
bit-book  can  do  without  the  world.  One  good  thing  in  the  middle 
of  all  this  stagnation  is  that  we  are  perfectly  peaceable  here,  though 
the  contrary  was  by  some  apprehended.  The  newspapers  will  tell 
you,  as  their  way  is,  about  wars  and  rumors  of  wars;  but  you  need 


124  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

not  believe  them,  or  heed  them.  I  see  no  symptom  of  revolting 
among  the  people,  neither  do  I  believe  that  anything  short  of  hunger 
will  raise  them — of  which,  happily,  there  is  as  yet  no  approach.  So 
keep  yourself  perfectly  easy,  my  dear  mother,  and  know  that  we  are 
as  safe  as  we  could  anywhere  be ;  nay,  at  the  first  stir  of  '  revolution ' 
cannot  we  hasten  to  the  Craig  and  sit  there  and  see  them  revolve  it 
out  for  their  own  behoof. 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  not  seen  in  the  newspapers,  but  will  soon 
see,  something  extraordinary  about  poor  Edward  Irving.  His  friends 
here  are  all  much  grieved  about  him.  For  many  months  he  has 
been  puddling  and  muddling  in  the  midst  of  certain  insane  jargon- 
ings  of  hysterical  women  and  crack-brained  enthusiasts,  who  start 
up  from  time  to  time  in  public  companies,  and  utter  confused  stuff, 
mostly  '  Ohs '  and  '  Ahs, '  and  absurd  interjections  about  '  the  body 
of  Jesus;'  they  also  pretend  to  '  work  miracles,'  and  have  raised  more 
than  one  weak  bedrid  woman,  and  cured  people  of  'nerves,'  or,  as 
they  themselves  say,  'cast  devils  out  of  them.'  All  which  poor  Ir- 
ving is  pleased  to  consider  as  the  '  work  of  the  Spirit, '  and  to  janner 
about  at  great  length,  as  making  his  church  the  peculiarly  blessed  of 
Heaven,  and  equal  to  or  greater  than  the  primitive  one  at  Corinth. 
This,  greatly  to  my  sorrow  and  that  of  many,  has  gone  on  privately 
a  good  while,  with  increasing  vigor;  but  last  Sabbath  it  burst  out 
publicly  in  the  open  church ;  for  one  of  the  '  Prophetesses, '  a  woman 
on  the  verge  of  derangement,  started  up  in  the  time  of  worship,  and 
began  to  speak  with  tongues,  and,  as  the  thing  was  encouraged  by 
Irving,  there  were  some  three  or  four  fresh  hands  who  started  up  in 
the  evening  sermon  and  began  their  ragings;  whereupon  the  whole 
congregation  got  into  foul  uproar,  some  groaning,  some  laughing, 
some  shrieking,  not  a  few  falling  into  swoons :  more  like  a  Bedlam 
than  a  Christian  church.  Happily,  neither  Jane  nor  I  were  there, 
though  we  had  been  the  previous  day.  We  had  not  even  heard  of 
it.  When  going  next  evening  to  call  on  Irving,  we  found  the  house 
all  decked  out  for  a  '  meeting '  (that  is,  about  this  same  '  speaking 
with  tongues '),  and  as  we  talked  a  moment  with  Irving,  who  had 
come  down  to  us,  there  rose  a  shriek  in  the  upper  story  of  the 
house,  and  presently  he  exclaimed,  '  There  is  one  prophesying;  come 
and  hear  her!'  We  hesitated  to  go,  but  he  forced  us  up  into  a  back 
room,  and  there  we  could  hear  the  wretched  creature  raving  like  one 
possessed:  hooing,  and  Aaing,  and  talking  as  sensibly  as  one  would 
do  with  a  pint  of  brandy  in  his  stomach,  till  after  some  ten  minutes 
she  seemed  to  grow  tired  and  become  silent. 

"  Nothing  so  shocking  and  altogether  unspeakably  deplorable  was 
it  ever  my  lot  to  hear.  Poor  Jane  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting,  and 
did  not  recover  the  whole  night.  And  now  the  newspapers  have 
got  wind  of  it  and  are  groaning  loudly  over  it,  and  the  congregation 
itself  is  like  to  split  on  the  matter;  and  for  poor  Irving,  in  any  case, 
dark  mad  times  are  coming.  You  need  not  speak  of  all  this,  at  least 
not  be  the  first  to  speak  of  it ;  most  likely  it  will  be  too  public. 
What  the  final  issue  for  our  most  worthy  but  most  misguided  friend 
may  be,  I  dare  not  so  much  as  guess.  Could  I  do  anything  to  save 
him,  it  were  well  my  part,  but  I  despair  of  being  able  to  accomplish 
anything.  I  began  a  letter  to  him  yesterday,  but  gave  it  up  as  hope- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  125 

less  when  I  heard  that  the  newspapers  had  interfered,  for  now  Ir- 
ving, I  reckon,  will  not  draw  back,  lest  it  should  seem  fear  of  men 
rather  than  of  God.  The  unhappy  man!  Let  us  nevertheless  hope 
that  he  is  not  utterly  lost,  but  only  gone  astray  for  a  time.  Be 
thankful  also  that  our  wits  are  still  in  some  measure  left  with  us." 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"October  21. 
******** 

"The  newspapers  call  on  Irving's  people,  for  the  honor  of  Scot- 
land, to  leave  him  or  muzzle  him.  The  most  general  hypothesis  is 
that  he  is  a  quack,  the  milder  that  he  is  getting  cracked.  Poor 
George  is  the  man  I  pity  most;  he  spoke  to  us  of  it,  almost  with 
tears  in  eyes,  and  earnestly  entreated  me  to  deal  with  his  brother, 
which,  when  he  comes  hither  (by  appointment  on  Tuesday),  I  partly 
mean  to  attempt,  though  now  I  fear  it  will  be  useless.  It  seems 
likely  that  all  the  Loselism  of  London  will  be  about  the  church  next 
Sunday,  that  his  people  will  quarrel  with  him  ;  in  any  case,  that 
troublous  times  are  appointed  him.  My  poor  friend  !  And  yet  the 
punishment  was  not  unjust,  that  he  who  believed  without  inquiry 
should  now  believe  against  all  light,  and  portentously  call  upon  the 
world  to  admire  as  inspiration  what  is  but  a  dancing  on  the  verge  of 
bottomless  abysses  of  madness.  I  see  not  the  end  of  it — who  does?" 

Carlyle  did  attempt,  as  he  has  related  in  the  "Reminiscences," 
and  as  he  tells  in  his  letters,  to  drag  Irving  back  from  the  precipice ; 
but  it  proved  as  vain  as  he  had  feared ;  and  all  that  he  could  do  was 
but  to  stand  aside  and  watch  the  ruin  of  his  true  and  noble-minded 
friend.  The  last  touch  was  added  to  the  tragedy  by  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Carlyle  to  witness  the  catastrophe. 

Meanwhile  London  was  filling  again  after  the  holidays;  and  the 
autumn  brought  back  old  faces  of  other  friends  whom  Carlyle  was 
glad  to  see  again.  The  Bullers  were  among  the  earliest  arrivals. 
Charles  Buller,  then  beginning  his  brief  and  brilliant  career,  was  an 
advanced  Radical  in  politics,  and  equally  advanced  in  matters  of 
speculation.  He  had  not  yet  found  a  creed,  as  he  had  said,  which 
he  could  even  wish  to  believe  true.  He  had  a  generous  scorn  of  af- 
fectation, and  did  not  choose,  like  many  of  his  contemporaries,  to 
wear  a  mask  of  veiled  hypocrisy.  The  hen  is  terrified  when  the 
ducklings  she  has  hatched  take  to  water.  Mrs.  Buller,  indeed,  shared 
her  son's  feelings  and  felt  no  alarm;  but  her  sister,  Mrs.  Strachey, 
who,  a  good  religious  woman,  was  shocked  at  a  freedom  less  com- 
mon then  than  it  is  now,  because  it  could  be  less  safely  avowed,  and, 
in  despair  of  help  from  the  professional  authorities,  to  whom  she 
knew  that  her  nephew  would  not  listen,  she  turned  to  Carlyle,  whose 
opinions  she  perhaps  imperfectly  understood,  but  of  whose  piety  of 
heart  she  was  assured. 

Carlyle  was  extremely  fond  of  Charles  Buller.  He  was  the  only 
person  of  distinction  or  promise  of  distinction  with  whom  he  came 


123  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

in  contact  that  he  heartily  admired;  and  he,  too,  had  regretted  to  see 
his  old  pupil  rushing  off  into  the  ways  of  agnosticism.  Well  he 
knew  that  no  man  ever  came,  or  ever  could  come,  to  any  greatness 
in  this  world  in  irreverent  occupation  with  the  mere  phenomena  of 
earth.  The  agnostic  doctrines,  he  once  said  to  me,  were  to  appear- 
ance like  the  finest  flour,  from  which  you  might  expect  the  most  ex- 
cellent bread;  but  when  you  came  to  feed  on  it  you  found  it  was 
powdered  glass  and  you  had  been  eating  the  deadliest  poison.  What 
he  valued  in  Buller  was  his  hatred  of  cant,  his  frank  contempt  of  in- 
sincere professions.  But  refusal  even  to  appear  to  conform  with 
opinions  which  the  world  holds  it  decent  to  profess  is  but  the  clear- 
ing of  the  soil  from  weeds.  Carlyle,  without  waiting  to  be  urged  by 
Mrs.  Strachey,  had  long  been  laboring  to  sow  the  seeds  in  Buller  of  a 
nobler  belief ;  but  a  faith  which  can  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  work 
cannot  be  taught  like  a  mathematical  problem;  and  if  Carlyle  had 
shown  Mrs.  Strachey  the  condition  of  his  own  mind,  she  would 
scarcely  have  applied  to  him  for  assistance.  Buller  died  before  it 
had  been  seen  to  what  seed  sown  such  a  mind  as  his  might  eventu-. 
ally  have  grown. 

TJwmas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotabrig. 

1 '  November  10,  1831. 
******** 

"I  feel  in  some  measure  getting  to  my  feet  again  after  so  long 
stumbling.  Some  time  ago,  I  actually  began  a  paper  for  the  Edin- 
burgh Review,  at  which  I  am  daily  working.  My  hand  was  sadly 
out;  but  by  resolute  endeavor  I  feel  that  it  will  come  in  again,  and  I 
shall  perhaps  make  a  tolerable  story  of  it.  So  long  as  I  can  work,  it 
is  all  well  with  me :  I  care  for  nothing.  The  only  thing  I  have  to 
struggle  against  is  idleness  and  falsehood.  These  are  the  two  Devil's 
emissaries  that,  did  I  give  them  heed,  would  work  all  my  woe.  A 
considerable  paper  of  mine  came  out  in  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Re- 
view (Cochrane's),  which,  with  several  other  things  that  you  have  not 
yet  seen,  I  hope  to  show  you  and  get  you  to  read  when  I  return. 
Cochrane's  pay  will  serve  to  keep  Mall  in  shaft  till  we  turn  north- 
ward. Meanwhile  all  goes  on  as  well  as  we  could  hope;  our  lodg- 
ings continue  very  comfortable  and  very  cheap ;  so  that  we  can  both 
live  for  little  more  than  it  used  in  my  last  London  residence  to  cost 
me  alone.  The  people  are  very  cleanly,  polite,  decent-minded  peo- 
ple; they  have  seen  better  days,  and  seem  to  have  a  heart  above 
their  lot.  Both  of  us  sleep  well;  our  health  is  fully  of  the  old  quali- 
ty: we  eat  and  breathe,  and  have  wherewith  to  eat  and  breathe;  for 
honest  thinking  and  honest  acting  the  materials  are  everywhere  laid 
down  to  one. 

"Except  the  printing  of  my  book,  or  rather  the  trying  for  it  so 
long  as  there  seems  any  good  chance,  I  have  no  special  call  at  Lon- 
don. Nevertheless,  there  are  many  profitable  chances  for  me  here; 
especially  many  persons  with  whom  I  find  much  encouragement  and 
perhaps  improvement  in  associating.  A  considerable  knot  of  young 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  127 

men,  in  particular,  I  discover  here  that  have  had  their  eves  on  me, 
and  wish  for  insight  from  me;  with  these  it  seems  quite  possible 
some  good  may  be  done.  Among  the  number  was  my  landlord  this 
morning,1  a  secretary  in  one  of  the  government  offices,  whom  I  met 
with  for  the  first  time.  He  had  a  whole  party  to  meet  me:  four  of 
the  best-mannered,  most  pleasant  persons  1  have  for  a  long  time  seen; 
all  ingenuous  persons  '  lying,'  what  so  few  do,  '  open  to  light.'  The 
disciple  or  associate  I  have  most  to  do  with  is  one  John  Mill  (the  sou 
of  a  Scotchman  of  eminence),  acquainted  with  the  Bullers,  etc. ,  who 
is  a  great  favorite  here.  It  was  he  that  brought  about  my  meeting 
this  morning  with  my  secretary  (Taylor)  and  his  friends,  whom  I 
hope  to  see  again.  Charles  Buller  also  has  come  to  town ;  he  made 
his  appearance  here  the  other  day,  was  in  about  an  hour  followed  by 
Mill,  and  the  two  made  what  Jane  called  '  a  pleasant  forenoon  call 
of  seven  hours  and  a  half. '  Charles  is  grown  a  great  tower  of  a  fel- 
low, six  feet  three  in  height,  a  yard  in  breadth,  shows  great  talent 
and  great  natural  goodness,  which  I  hope  he  will  by-and-by  turn  to 
notable  account.  I  met  him  and  Strachey  amid  the  raw,  frosty  fog 
of  Piccadilly  this  morning,  and  expect  to  see  him  some  evening  soon. 
Mrs.  Strachey  is  just  returned  from  Devonshire,  whence  she  had 
written  us  a  very  kind  and  true-looking  letter,  and  we  expect  to  see 
her  soon.  The  Montagus  go  hovering  much  about  us ;  but  their  in- 
tercourse is  of  inferior  profit  their  whole  way  of  life  has  a  certain 
hollowness,  so  that  you  nowhere  find  firm  bottom.  One  must  try  to 
take  the  good  out  of  each  and  keep  aloof  from  the  evil  that  lies 
everywhere  mixed  with  it. 

"Irving  comes  but  little  in  our  way;  and  one  does  not  like  to  go 
and  seek  him  in  his  own  house  in  a  whole  posse  of  enthusiasts,  rant- 
ers, and  silly  women.  He  was  here  once,  taking  tea,  since  that  work 
of  the  '  Tongues '  began.  I  told  him  with  great  earnestness  my  deep- 
seated,  unhesitating  conviction  that  it  was  no  special  work  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  or  of  any  spirit,  save  of  that  black,  frightful,  unclean 
one  that  dwells  in  Bedlam.  He  persists,  mildly  obstinate,  in  his 
course,  greatly  strengthened  therein  by  his  wife,  who  is  reckoned  the 
beginner  of  it  all.  What  it  will  all  lead  to  I  pretend  not  to  prophesy. 
I  do  not  think  it  can  spread  to  any  extent  even  among  the  vulgar 
here  at  this  time  of  day;  only  a  small  knot  of  ravers  now  rave  in 
that  old  worn-out  direction.  But  for  Irving  himself  the  conse- 
quences frighten  me.  That  he  will  lose  his  congregation  seems  cal- 
culated on  by  his  friends ;  but  perhaps  a  far  darker  fear  is  not  out 
of  the  question — namely,  that  he  may  lose  his  own  wits.  God  guard 
him  from  such  a  consummation!  None  of  you,  I  am  sure,  will  join 
in  any  ill-natured  clamors  against  him.  Defend  him  rather  with 
brotherly  charity,  and  hope  always  that  he  will  yet  be  delivered  from 
this  real  delusion  of  the  Devil. 

"  Jane  wanted  me  to  tell  you  of  the  Examiner  editor,8  but  I  have 
not  space  here.  The  poor  fellow  has  been  thrown  out  of  a  gig,  and 
is  tediously  lame ;  so  I  have  not  yet  seen  him  here,  neither  was  he  at 
home  when  I  pilgrimed  over  the  other  day,  but  gone  to  Brighton  for 

>  Henry  (now  Sir  Henry)  Taylor,  with  whom  he  had  been  at  breakfast. 
*  Fonblan<iue. 


128  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

sea  air.  My  ideas,  therefore,  were  only  formed  by  candle-light.  He 
is  a  long,  thin,  towfa'e-headed  man,  with  wrinkly,  even  baggy  face, 
keen,  zealous-looking  eyes,  a  sort  of  well-toned,  honestly  argumenta- 
tive voice;  very  much  the  air  of  a  true-hearted  Radical.  He  was 
all  braced  with  straps,  moving  on  crutches,  and  hung  together  loose- 
ly, you  would  have  said,  as  by  flail-cappins.  However,  we  got  along 
bravely  together,  and  parted,  after  arguing  and  assenting  and  laugh- 
ing and  mourning  at  considerable  length,  with  mutual  purposes  to 
meet  again.  I  rather  like  the  man;  there  is  far  more  in  him  than  in 
most  of  Radicals;  besides,  he  means  honestly,  and  has  a  real  feeling 
where  the  shoe  pinches — namely,  that  the  grand  misery  is  the  con- 
dition of  the  poor  classes. 

"  I  had  much  to  write  about  the  state  of  matters  here,  and  to  quiet 
your  fears  especially  about  the  cholera,  which  so  many  torment 
themselves  with.  It  is  in  truth  a  disease  of  no  such  terrific  quality, 
only  that  its  effect  is  sudden,  and  the  people  have  heard  so  much 
about  it.  Scarcely  a  year  but  there  is  a  typhus  fever  in  Glasgow  or 
Edinburgh  that  kills  far  more  than  the  cholera  does  in  like  cases. 
For  my  part,  I  am  even  satisfied  that  it  has  reached  our  coasts 
(where  I  have  long  inevitably  expected  it),  and  that  now  the  reality, 
which  is  measurable,  will  succeed  the  terror,  which  is  unmeasurable, 
and  doing  great  mischief  both  to  individual  peace  of  mind  and  all 
kinds  of  commercial  intercourse.  The  worst  effect  here  will  be 
that  same  interruption;  thus  already  the  coals  which  come  from 
Northumberland  are  beginning  to  rise.  On  the  whole,  however,  it 
is  our  purpose  to  run  no  unnecessary  risks;  therefore,  should  the 
danger  really  come  near  us,  and  the  disease  break  out  in  London 
under  a  shape  in  any  measure  formidable,  we  will  forthwith  bundle 
our  gear,  and  return  to  Puttock  till  it  is  over.  This  we  have  re- 
solved on,  so  disquiet  not  yourself,  my  dear  mother;  there  is  no  peril 
for  the  moment ;  nay,  it  is  a  hundred  miles  nearer  you  than  us.  As 
to  rioting  and  all  that  sort  of  matter,  there  is  no  symptom  of  it  here ; 
neither  in  case  of  its  actual  occurrence  have  persons  like  us  any- 
thing  to  fear.  We  are  safer  here,  I  take  it,  than  we  should  be  m 
Dunscore  itself.  ...  I  will  write,  if  aught  notable  happen,  instant- 
ly. Farewell,  dear  mother.  God  bless  you  all !  T.  CARLYLE." 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"November  13,  1831. 
*#*##*** 

"  As  to  Irving,  expect  little  tidings  of  him.  I  think  I  shall  hence- 
forth see  little  of  him.  His  '  gift  of  tongues '  goes  on  apace.  Glen 
says  there  was  one  performing  yesterday;  but,  on  the  whole,  the 
Cockneys  are  too  old  for  such  lullabies — they  simply  think  he  is 
gone  distracted,  or  means  to  '  do '  them ;  and  so,  having  seen  it  once, 
come  no  more  back.  Edward  himself  came  here  about  a  fortnight 
ago,  to  tea,  and  I  told  him  solemnly,  with  a  tone  of  friendly  warn- 
ing, such  as  he  well  merited  from  me,  what  I  thought  of  that  scan- 
dalous delusion.  He  was  almost  at  crying,  but  remained — as  I  ex- 
pected him  to  remain.  It  sometimes  appears  to  me  the  darkest  fears 
are  actually  not  groundless  in  regard  to  him.  God  deliver  him!  If 
that  is  not  the  Devil's  own  work,  then  let  the  Devil  lay  down  the  gun. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  129 

"  I  know  not  whether  you  get  any  Galignanfs  Messenger  or  the  like, 
BO  whether  it  is  worth  while  to  send  you  any  public  news.  There 
have  been  frightful  riots  at  Bristol,  some  hundreds  of  lives  lost,  all 
the  public  buildings  burnt,  and  many  private  houses — quite  a  George 
Gordon  affair — on  occasion  of  Wetherell's  arrival  there  as  Recorder, 
whom  unhappily  they  took  that  method  of  convincing  that  there 
was  not  '  a  reaction '  (in  regard  to  lief orm).  Oh,  the  unspeakable, 
blundering,  braying,  brass-throated,  leather-headed  fool  and  fools! 
If  they  do  not  pass  that  Bill  of  theirs  soon,  the  country  will  be  a 
chaos,  and  200  Tory  lords  crying  out,  Who  shall  deliver  us?  The 
Duke  of  Northumberland  is  actually  fortifying  his  house  here. 
Other  riots  there  have  been  at  Coventry,  at  Worcester,  etc.  Swing 
also  is  as  busy  as  last  winter;  all  London,  all  Britain,  is  organizing 
itself  into  political  unions.  Finally,  the  cholera  has  actually  arrived 
at  Sunderland;  a  precious  outlook!  Truly  the  political  aspects  of 
England  give  even  me  alarms.  A  second  edition  of  the  French 
Revolution  is  distinctly  within  the  range  of  chances;  for  there  is  no- 
where any  tie  remaining  among  men.  Everywhere,  in  court  and 
cathedral,  brazen  Falsehood  now  at  length  stands  convicted  of  a  lie, 
and  famishing  Ignorance  cries,  Away  with  her,  away  with  her ! 
God  deliver  us.  Nay,  God  will  deliver  us ;  for  this  is  His  world,  not 
the  Devil's.  All  is  perfectly  quiet  in  London  hitherto ;  only  great 
apprehension,  swearing-in  of  constables.  Neither  is  the  cholera  yet 
dangerous.  It  has  not  spread  from  Sunderland,  where  it  has  now 
been  some  ten  days.  Should  the  danger  grow  imminent,  we  two 
have  determined  to  fly  to  Puttock.  Meanwhile,  I  cannot  say  that 
twenty  choleras  and  twenty  Revolutions  ought  to  terrify  one.  The 
crash  of  the  whole  solar  and  stellar  systems  could  only  kill  you 
once.  'I  have  cast  away  base  fear  from  me  forever,'  says  Dreck, 
and  he  is  seldom  wholly  wrong. " 

To  Mrs.  Welsh,1  Maryland  Street,  Liverpool. 

"4  Arnpton  Street:  Tuesday,  December,  1831. 

"My  dear  Aunt. — "When  I  returned  from  Enfield,  where  I  had 
been  for  a  week,  I  found  the  box  containing  the  memorials  of  my 
heedlessness 2  awaiting  me  on  the  top  of  a  cistern  outside  our  stair- 
case window;  and  our  landlady  assured  me,  with  the  utmost  self- 
complacency,  that  she  had  done  all  she  could  for  it  in  the  way  of 
keeping  it  cool !  She  looked  rather  blank  when,  after  duly  com- 
mending her  care,  I  informed  her  it  was  probably  a  cloak  and  shawl, 
which  she  might  now  bring  in  out  of  the  rain  with  all  despatch. 
Only  to  the  intellect  of  a  Cockney  would  a  deal  box  have  suggested 
the  exclusive  idea  of  game. 

"  The  cloak  I  got  dyed  a  more  sober  color  and  lined  and  furred, 
so  as  effectually  to  exclude  the  cold,  no  slight  conquest  of  Art  over 
Nature  in  these  days.  Some  people  here  have  the  impudence  or 
ignorance  to  congratulate  me  on  the  agreeable  change  of  climate  I 
have  made;  but  truly,  if  my  contentment  depended  mainly  on 
weather,  I  should  wish  myself  back  to  our  own  hill-top  without  de- 

'  Wife  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Liverpool  uncle. 

*  Things  which  she  had  left  at  Liverpool  in  passing  through. 

II.— 6* 


130  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

lay.  Regarded  as  a  place  merely,  this  noble  city  is  simply  the  most 
detestable  I  ever  lived  in — one  day  a  ferocious  frost,  the  next  a  fog 
so  thick  you  might  put  it  in  your  pocket ;  a  Dead  Sea  of  green-col- 
ored filth  underfoot,  and  above  an  atmosphere  like  one  of  my  un- 
cle's sugar-boilers.  But,  as  the  French  say,  ilfaut  se  ranger;  and  so 
day  after  day  I  rush  forth  with  desperate  resignation,  and  even  find 
a  sort  of  sublimity  in  the  infinite  horror  through  which  I  must  make 
my  way,  or  die  of  indigestion. 

"  If  I  am  inclined  to  reflect  on  the  place,  however  (perhaps  not  with- 
out a  touch  of  national  prejudice),  it  is  certainly  my  bounden  duty 
to  speak  well  of  the  people.  Nowhere  have  I  found  more  worth, 
more  talent,  or  more  kindness;  and  I  must  doubly  regret  the  ill- 
health  I  have  been  suffering  under,  since  it  has  so  curtailed  my  en- 
joyment of  all  this.  Nevertheless,  though  I  dare  seldom  accept  an 
invitation  out,  I  have  the  pleasantest  evenings  at  home.  Scarce  a 
night  passes  that  some  acquaintance,  new  or  old,  does  not  drop  in  at 
tea;  and  then  follow  such  bouts  at  talking!  Not  of  our  'Book '(as 
my  uncle  named  Carlyle),  but  of  several  books. 

"I  have  seen  most  of  the  literary  people  here,  and,  as  Edward 
Irving  said  after  his  first  interview  with  Wordsworth,  '  I  think  not 
of  them  so  highly  as  I  was  wont. ' 

"  These  people,  who  have  made  themselves  snug  little  reputations, 
and  on  the  strength  of  such  hold  up  their  heads  as  '  one  and  some- 
what/ are  by  no  means  the  most  distinguished  that  I  meet  with 
either  for  talent  or  cultivation;  some  of  them,  indeed  (Charles 
Lamb,  for  instance),  would  not  be  tolerated  in  any  society  out  of 
England.  .  .  . 

"...  My  kindest  love  to  my  uncle  and  all  the  weans.  Happy 
New-year  and  many  of  them ;  always  the  last  the  best !  God  bless 
you  all!  Your  affectionate  JAKE  W.  CARLYLE." 

To  Miss  Jean  Carlyle,  ScotsMg. 

"4  Ampton  Street:  December,  1831. 

"My  dear  Jean, — You  do  not  write  to  me;  but  you  write,  and  I 
am  content.  The  proverb  says  '  It  is  not  lost  that  a  friend  gets ;'  to 
which  I  readily  accede,  the  more  readily  because  a  letter  with  us  is 
always  regarded  as  a  common  good. 

"  1  do  not  forget  you  in  London,  as  you  predicted.  My  recollec- 
tions of  all  I  love  are  more  vivid  than  at  any  former  period.  Often 
when  I  have  been  lying  ill  here  among  strangers,  it  has  been  my 
pleasantest  thought  that  there  were  kind  hearts  at  home  to  whom 
my  sickness  would  not  be  a  weariness;  to  whom  I  could  return  out 
of  all  this  hubbub  with  affection  and  trust.  Not  that  I  am  not 
kindly  used  here ;  from  '  the  noble  lady '  *  down  to  the  mistress  of 
the  lodging,  I  have  everywhere  found  unlooked-for  civility,  and  at 
least  the  show  of  kindness.  With  the  '  noble  lady,'  however,  I  may 
mention  my  intercourse  seems  to  be  dying  an  easy  natural  death. 
Now  that  we  know  each  other,  the  'fine  enthu-si-asm '  cannot  be 
kept  alive  without  more  hypocrisy  than  one  of  us  at  least  can  bring 
to  bear  on  it.  Mrs.  Montagu  is  an  actress.  I  admire  her  to  a 

i  Mrs.  Montagu. 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  131 

certain  extent,  but  friendship  for  such  a  person  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

"Mrs.  Austin  I  have  now  seen,  and  like  infinitely  better.  She  is 
coming  to  tea  to-morrow  night.  If  I  '  swear  everlasting  friendship ' 
with  any  woman  here,  it  will  be  with  her. 

' '  But  the  most  interesting  acquaintances  we  have  made  are  the 
Saint-Simonians. *  You  may  fancy  how  my  heart  beat  when  a  card 
bearing  the  name  of  Gusto. ve  d' Eichth-al  was  sent  up  the  other  day, 
when  I  happened  to  be  alone.  Our  meeting  was  most  cordial ;  and, 
as  he  talks  good  English,  we  contrived  to  carry  on  a  pretty  voluble 
conversation  till  Carlyle  came  home  and  relieved  me.  He  (Gustave) 
is  a  creature  to  love  at  first  sight — so  gentle  and  trustful  and  earnest- 
looking,  ready  to  do  and  suffer  all  for  his  faith.  A  friend  accom- 
panies him,  whom  we  had  here  to-day  along  with  Mill  and  Detro- 
sier;  a  stronger,  perhaps  nobler  MAN  than  Gustave,  with  whom  Car- 
lyle seems  to  be  exceedingly  taken.  He  (Duverrier,  I  think  they  call 
him)  is  at  first  sight  ugly;  all  pitted  with  the  small-pox ;  but  by-and- 
by  you  wonder  at  your  first  impression,  his  countenance  is  so  pre- 
possessing and  commanding.  We  hope  to  see  a  great  deal  of  these 
men  before  we  leave  London.  Both  seem  to  entertain  a  high  re- 
spect for  Carlyle — as,  indeed,  everybody  I  see  does.  Glen  continues 
to  come  a  great  deal  about  us ;  and  blethers  more  like  a  man  growing 
mad  than  one  growing  wiser.  Carlyle  maintains,  in  opposition  to 
me,  that  there  is  '  method  ha  his  madness,'  but  his  idea  of  the  quan- 
tity seems  daily  diminishing. 

"Of  the  Irvings  we  see  nothing  and  hear  little  good.  Carlyle 
dined  at  a  literary  party  the  other  day,  where  he  met  Hogg,  Lock- 
hart,  Gait,  Allan  Cunningham,  etc. 

"  And  now  God  bless  you,  one  and  all  of  you!  My  love  to  every 
one.  Your  affectionate  JANE  W,  CABLYLE.  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

A.D.   1831.      JET.  36. 

Extract*  from  Note-book. 

"  November  2. — All  the  world  is  in  apprehension  about  the  chol- 
era pestilence,  which,  indeed,  seems  advancing  towards  us  with  a 
frightful,  slow,  unswerving  constancy.  For  myself,  I  cannot  say 
that  it  costs  me  great  suffering;  we  are  all  appointed  once  to  die. 
Death  is  the  g^-and  sum  total  of  it  all.  Generally  now  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  this  life  were  but  the  inconsiderable  portico  of  man's  exist- 
ence, which  afterwards,  in  new  mysterious  environment,  were  to 
be  continued  without  end.  I  say,  'seems  to  me,'  for  the  proof  of  it 
were  hard  to  state  by  logic;  it  is  the  fruit  of  faith;  begins  to  show 
itself  with  more  ana  more  decisiveness  the  instant  you  have  dared 
to  say,  '  Be  it  either  way  !'  But,  on  the  whole,  our  conception  of 
immortality  depends  on  that  of  time,  which  latter  is  the  deepest 

i  "The  Saint-Simonians,  Detrosier,  etc.,  wcro  stirring  and  conspicuous  objects  in 
that  epoch,  but  have  now  fallen  all  dark  and  silent  again. — T.  C.,  1806." 


132  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

belonging  to  philosophy,  and  the  one  perhaps  wherein  modern  phi- 
losophy has  earned  its  best  triumph.  Believe  that  properly  there  is  no 
space  and  no  time,  how  many  contradictions  become  reconciled!" 

"  Sports  are  all  gone  from  among  men;  there  is  now  no  holiday 
either  for  rich  or  poor.  Hard  toiling,  then  hard  drinking  or  hard 
fox-hunting  !  This  is  not  the  era  of  sport,  but  of  martyrdom  and 
persecution.  Will  the  new  morning  never  dawn?  It  requires  a 
certain  vigor  of  the  imagination  and  of  the  social  faculties  before 
amusement,  popular  sports,  can  exist,  which  vigor  at  this  era  is  all 
but  total  inanition.  Do  but  think  of  the  Christmas  carols  and 
games,  the  Abbots  of  Unreason,  the  Maypoles,  etc.,  etc.  Then  look 
at  your  Manchesters  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays." 

"  'Education'  is  beyond  being  so  much  as  despised.  We  must 
praise  it,  when  it  is  not  Deducation,  or  an  utter  annihilation  of 
what  it  professes  to  foster.  The  best  educated  man  you  will  often 
find  to  be  the  artisan — at  all  rates,  the  man  of  business.  For  why? 
He  has  put  forth  his  hand  and  operated  on  Nature ;  must  actually 
attain  some  true  insight,  or  he  cannot  live.  The  worst  educated 
man  is  usually  your  man  of  fortune.  He  has  not  put  forth  his  hand 
upon  anything  except  upon  his  bell-rope.  Your  scholar  proper,  too, 
your  so-called  man  of  letters,  is  a  thing  with  clearer  vision,  through 
the  hundredth  part  of  an  eye.  A  Burns  is  infinitely  better  educated 
than  a  Byron." 

"  A  common  persuasion  among  serious  ill-informed  persons  that 
the  end  of  the  world  is  at  hand — Henry  Drummond,  Edward  Irving, 
and  all  that  class.  So  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era, 
say  rather  at  the  termination  of  the  Pagan  one.  Which  is  the  most 
ignorant  creature  of  his  class  even  in  Britain?  Generally  speaking, 
the  Cockney,  the  London-bred  man.  What  does  the  Cockney  boy 
know  of  the  muffin  he  eats?  Simply  that  a  hawker  brings  it  to  the 
door  and  charges  a  penny  for  it.  The  country  youth  sees  it  grow  in 
the  fields,  in  the  mill,  in  the  bakehouse.  Thus  of  all  things  per- 
taining to  the  life  of  man." 

"November  4. — To  it,  thou  TaugenicJits !  Gird  thyself!  stirf 
struggle!  forward!  forward!  Thou  art  bundled  up  here  and  tied 
as  in  a  sack.  On,  then,  as  in  a  sack  race,  '  Running,  not  raging. ' 
Gott  sey  mir  gnadig." 

"November  12. — Have  been  two  days  as  good  as  idle — hampered, 
disturbed,  quite  out  of  sorts,  as  it  were  quite  stranded ;  no  tackle 
left,  no  tools  but  my  ten  fingers,  nothing  but  accidental  drift-wood 
to  build  even  a  raft  of.  '  This  is  no  my  ain  house."  Art  thou  aware 
that  no  man  and  no  thing,  but  simply  thy  own  self,  can  permanently 
keep  this  down?  Act  on  that  conviction. 

"How  sad  and  stern  is  all  life  to  me!  Homeless!  homeless! 
would  my  task  were  done.  I  think  I  should  not  care  to  die;  in  real 
earnestness,  should  care  very  little :  this  earthly  sun  has  shown  me 
only  roads  full  of  mire  and  thorns.  Why  cannot  I  be  a  kind  of 
artist?  Politics  are  angry,  agitating.  What  have  I  to  do  with  it? 
will  any  Parliamentary  Reform  ever  reform  mef" 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  133 

"This  I  begin  to  see,  that  evil  and  good  are  everywhere,  like 
Bhadow  and  substance;  inseparable  (for  men),  yet  not  hostile,  only 
opposed.  There  is  considerable  significance  in  this  fact,  perhaps 
the  n-ew  moral  principle  of  our  era.  (How  ?)  It  was  familiar  to 
Goethe's  mind." 

"November  17. — The  nobleness  of  silence.  .  The  highest  melody 
dwells  only  in  silence  (the  sphere  melody,  the  melody  of  health); 
the  eye  cannot  see  shadow,  cannot  see  light,  but  only  the  two  com- 
bined. General  law  of  being.  Think  farther  of  this. 

"  As  it  is  but  a  small  portion  of  our  thinking  that  we  can  articu- 
late into  thoughts,  so  again  it  is  but  a  small  portion,  properly  only 
the  outer  surface  of  our  morality,  that  we  can  shape  into  action,  or 
into  express  rules  of  action.  Remark  farther  that  it  is  but  the  cor- 
rect, coherent  shaping  of  this  outward  surface,  or  the  incorrect, 
incoherent,  monstrous  shaping  of  it,  and  nowise  the  moral  force 
which  shaped  it,  which  lies  under  it,  vague,  indefinite,  unseen,  that 
constitutes  what  in  common  speech  we  call  a  moral  conduct  or  an 
immoral.  Hence,  too,  the  necessity  of  tolerance,  of  insight,  in  judg- 
ing of  men.  For  the  correctness  of  that  same  outer  surface  may  be 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  inward  depth  and  quantity;  nay,  often 
enough  they  are  in  inverse  proportion;  only  in  some  highly  favored 
individuals  can  the  great  endowment  utter  itself  without  irregu- 
larity. Thus  in  great  men,  with  whom  inward,  and  as  it  were  latent, 
morality  must  ever  be  the  root  and  beginning  of  greatness,  how 
often  do  we  find  a  conduct  defaced  by  many  a  moral  impropriety, 
and  have  to  love  them  with  sorrow  !  Thus,  too,  poor  Burns  must 
record  that  almost  the  only  noble-minded  men  he  had  ever  met  with 
were  among  the  class  named  Blackguards. 

' '  Extremes  meet.  Perfect  morality  were  no  more  an  object  of 
consciousness  than  perfect  immorality,  as  pure  light  cannot  any 
more  be  seen  than  pure  darkness.  The  healthy  moral  nature  loves 
virtue,  the  unhealthy  at  best  makes  love  to  it." 

"  December  23. — Finished  the  ' Characteristics'  about  a  week  ago; 
baddish,  with  a  certain  beginning  of  deeper  insight  in  it." 

"January  13,  1832. — Plenty  of  magazine  editors  applying  to  me, 
indeed  sometimes  pestering  me.  Do  not  like  to  break  with  any,  yet 
must  not  close  with  any.  Strange  state  of  literature,  periodical  and 
other!  A  man  must  just  lay  out  his  manufacture  in  one  of  those 
old-clothes  shops  and  see  whether  any  one  will  buy  it.  The  Editor 
has  little  to  do  with  the  matter  except  as  commercial  broker;  he  sells 
it  and  pays  you  for  it. 

"Lytton  Bulwer  has  not  yet  come  into  sight  of  me.  Is  there 
aught  more  in  him  than  a  dandiacal  philosophist?  Fear  not.  Of 
the  infatuated  Fraser,  with  his  dog's-meat  tart  of  a  magazine,  what? 
His  pay  is  certain,  and  he  means  honestly;  but  he  is  a  goose.  It  was 
he  that  sent  me  Croker's  '  Boswell ;'  am  I  bound  to  offer  him  the 
(future)  article?  or  were  this  the  rule  in  such  cases:  write  thy  best 
and  the  truth.  Then  publish  it  where  thou  canst  best.  An  indubi- 
table rule,  but  is  it  rule  enough?" 


184  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Last  Friday  saw  my  name  in  large  letters  at  the  Athenaum 
office  in  Catherine  Street,  Strand;  hurried  on  with  downcast  eyes  as 
if  I  had  seen  myself  in  the  pillory.  Dilke  (to  whom  I  had  intrusted 
'  Dreck '  to  read  it,  and  see  if  he  could  help  me  with  it)  asked  me  for  a 
scrap  of  writing  with  my  name.  I  could  not  quite  clearly  see  my 
way  through  the  business,  for  he  had  twice  or  thrice  been  civil  to 
me,  and  I  did  reckon  his  Athenaeum  to  be  the  bad-best  of  literary 
syllabubs,  and  thought  I  might  harmlessly  say  so  much ;  gave  him 
Paust's  curse,  which  hung  printed  there.  Incline  now  to  believe 
that  I  did  wrong;  at  least  imprudently.  "Why  yield  even  half  a 
hair's-breadth  to  puffing?  Abhor  it,  utterly  divorce  it,  and  kick  it 
to  the  Devil. 

"Singular  how  little  wisdom  or  light  of  any  kind  I  have  met  with 
in  London.  Do  not  find  a  single  creature  that  has  communicated 
an  idea  to  me ;  at  best,  one  or  two  that  can  understand  an  idea.  Yet 
the  sight  of  London  works  on  me  strongly.  I  have  not  perhaps  lost 
my  journey  hither. 

"Hayward  of  the  Temple,  a  small  but  active  and  vivacious  'man 
of  the  time,'  by  a  strange  impetus  takes  to  me;  the  first  time,  they 
say,  he  ever  did  such  a  thing,  being  one  that  lives  in  a  chiaroscuro 
element  of  which  good-humored  contempt  is  the  basis.  Dined  in 
his  rooms  (over  Dunning's)  with  a  set  of  Oxonian  Templars,  stupid 
(in  part),  limited  (wholly),  conceited.  A  dirty  evening;  I  at  last 
sunk  utterly  silent.  None  of  the  great  personages  of  letters  have 
come  in  my  way  here,  and  except  as  sights  they  are  of  little  moment 
to  me.  Jeffrey  says  he  'praised  me  to  Rogers,' who,  etc.,  etc.  It 
sometimes  rather  surprises  me  that  his  lordship  does  not  think  it 
would  be  kind  to  show  me  the  faces  of  those  people.  Something 
discourages  or  hinders  him;  what  it  is  I  know  not,  and  indeed  care 
not.  The  Austins,  at  least  the  (Lady)  Austin,  I  like ;  eine  verstandige 
herzhafte  Fi'au.  Empson,  a  diluted,  good-natured,  languid  Anemp- 
finder.  The  strongest  young  man,  one  Macaulay  (now  in  Parlia- 
ment, as  I  from  the  first  predicted),  an  emphatic,  hottish,  really  forci- 
ble person,  but  unhappily  without  divine  idea.  Rogers  (an  elegant, 
politely  malignant  old  lady,  I  think)  is  in  town,  and  probably  I  might 
see  him.  Moore  is  I  know  not  where,  a  lascivious  triviality  of  great 
name.  Bentham  is  said  to  have  become  a  driveller  and  garrulous 
old  man.  Perhaps  I  will  try  for  a  look  of  him.  I  have  much  to  see 
and  many  things  to  wind  up  in  London  before  we  leave  it." 

"I  went  one  day  searching  for  Johnson's  place  of  abode.  Found 
with  difficulty  the  house  in  Gough  (Goff)  Square,  where  the  Diction- 
ary was  composed.  The  landlord,  whom  Glen  and  I  incidentally  in- 
quired of,  was  just  scraping  his  feet  at  the  door,  invited  us  to  walk 
in,  showed  us  the  garret  rooms,  etc.  (of  which  he  seemed  to  have  the 
obscurest  traditions,  taking  Johnson  for  a  schoolmaster),  interested 
us  much;  but  at  length  (dog  of  a  fellow)  began  to  hint  that  he  had 
all  these  rooms  to  let  as  lodgings." 

"  Biography  is  the  only  history.  Political  history  as  now  written 
and  hitherto,  with  its  kings  and  changes  of  tax-gatherers,  is  little 
(very  little)  more  than  a  mockery  of  our  want.  This  I  see  more  and 
more." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  135 

"The  world  grows  to  me  even  more  as  a  magic  picture — a  true 
supernatural  revelation,  infinitely  stern,  but  also  infinitely  grand. 
Shall  I  ever  succeed  in  copying  a  little  therefrom?" 

"January  18. — Came  upon  Shepherd,  the  Unitarian  parson  of 
Liverpool,  yesterday,  for  the  first  time,  at  Mrs.  Austin's.  A  very 
large,  purfly,  flabby  man;  massive  head  with  long,  thin  gray  hair; 
eyes  both  squinting,  both  overlapped  at  the  corners  by  a  little  roof  of 
a  brow,  giving  him  (with  his  ill-shut  mouth)  a  kind  of  lazy,  good- 
humored  aspect.  For  the  rest,  a  Unitarian  Radical,  clear,  steadfast, 
but  every  way  limited.  One  rather  trivial-looking  young  lady,  and 
another  excessively  ill-looking,  sat  opposite  to  him,  seeming  to  be- 
long to  him.  He  said  Jeffrey  did  not  strike  him  as  '  a  very  taking 
man.'  Lancashire  accent,  or  some  provincial  one.  Have  long  known 
the  Unitarians  intus  et  in  cute,  and  never  got  any  good  of  them,  or 
any  ill." 

"January  21. — Yesterday  sat  scribbling  some  stuff  close  on  the 
borders  of  nonsense,  about  biography  as  a  kind  of  introduction  to 
'Johnson.'  How  is  it  to  be?  I  see  not  well;  know  only  that  it 
should  be  light,  and  written  (by  way  of  experiment)  currente  calamo. 
I  am  sickly,  not  dispirited;  yet  saVl,  as  is  my  wont.  When  did  I 
laugh  last?"  Alas!  'light  laughter,  like  heavy  money,  has  altogether 
fled  from  us.'  The  reason  is,  we  have  no  communion;  company 
enough,  but  no  fellowship.  Time  brings  roses.  Meanwhile,  the 
grand  perennial  Communion  of  Saints  is  ever  open  to  us.  Enter 
and  worthily  comport  thyself  there." 

"Nothing  in  this  world  is  to  me  more  mournful,  distressing,  and 
in  the  end  intolerable,  than  mirth  not  based  on  earnestness  (for  it  is 
false  mirth),  than  wit  pretending  to  be  wit  and  yet  not  based  on 
wisdom.  Two  objects  would  reduce  me  to  gravity  had  I  the  spirits 
of  a  merry-andrew — a  death's-head  and  a  modern  London  wit.  The 
besom  of  destruction  should  be  swept  over  these  people,  or  else  per- 
petual silence  (except  when  they  needed  victuals  or  the  like)  im- 
posed on  them. 

"In  the  afternoon  Jeffrey,  as  he  is  often  wont,  called  in  on  us; 
very  lively,  quick,  and  light.  Chatted  about  cholera,  a  subject  far 
more  interesting  to  him  than  it  is  to  us.  Walked  with  him  to  Re- 
gent Street  in  hurried  assiduous  talk.  O'Connell  I  called  a  real 
specimen  of  the  almost  obsolete  species  clemagogut.  Why  should  it 
be  obsolete,  this  being  the  very  scene  for  it?  Chiefly  because  we  are 
all  dilettantes,  and  have  no  heart  of  faith,  even  for  the  coarsest  of 
beliefs.  His  '  cunning '  the  sign,  as  cunning  ever  is,  of  a  weak  intel- 
lect or  a  weak  character. 

"Soon  after  my  return  home  Arthur  Buller  called  with  a  mein 
bester  Freundf  A  goodish  youth — affectionate,  at  least  attached; 
not  so  handsome  as  I  had  expected,  though  more  so  than  enough. 
He  walked  with  me  to  Eraser's  dinner  in  Regent  Street,  or  rather  to 
the  door  of  Eraser's  house,  and  then  took  leave,  with  stipulation  of 
speedy  re-meeting.  Enter  through  Eraser's  bookshop  into  a  back 
room,  where  sit  Allan  Cunningham,  W.  Eraser  (the  only  two  known 
to  me  personally),  James  Hogg  (in  the  easy-chair  of  honor),  Gait, 


136  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

and  one  or  two  nameless  persons,  patiently  waiting  for  dinner. 
Lockhart  (whom  I  did  not  know)  requests  to  be  introduced  to  me 
— a  precise,  brief,  active  person  of  considerable  faculty,  which,  how- 
ever, had  shaped  itself  gigmanically  only.  Fond  of  quizzing,  yet 
not  very  maliciously.  Has  a  broad  black  brow,  indicating  force  and 
penetration,  but  a  lower  half  of  face  diminishing  into  the  character 
at  best  of  distinctness,  almost  of  triviality.  Rather  liked  the  man, 
and  shall  like  to  meet  him  again.  Gait  looks  old,  is  deafish,  has  the 
air  of  a  sedate  Greenock  burgher;  mouth  indicating  sly  humor  and 
self-satisfaction;  the  eyes,  old  and  without  lashes,  gave  me  a  sort  of 
woe  interest  for  him.  He  Avears  spectacles,  and  is  hard  of  hearing; 
a  very  large  man,  and  eats  and  drinks  with  a  certain  west-country 
gusto  and  research.  Said  little,  but  that  little  peaceable,  clear,  and 
gutmuthig.  Wish  to  see  him  also  again.  Hogg  is  a  little  red- 
skinned  stiff  sack  of  a  body,  with  quite  the  common  air  of  an 
Ettrick  shepherd,  except  that  he  has  a  highish  though  sloping  brow 
(among  his  yellow  grizzled  hair),  and  two  clear  little  beads  of  blue 
or  gray  eyes,  that  sparkle,  if  not  with  thought,  yet  with  animation. 
Behaves  himself  quite  easily  and  well;  speaks  Scotch,  and  mostly 
narrative  absurdity  (or  even  obscenity)  therewith.  Appears  in 
the  mingled  character  of  zany  and  raree-show.  All  bent  on  ban- 
tering him,  especially  Lockhart;  Hogg  walking  through  it  as  if  un- 
conscious, or  almost  flattered.  His  vanity  seems  to  be  immense,  but 
also  his  good-nature.  I  felt  interest  for  the  poor  "herd  body," 
wondered  to  see  him  blown  hither  from  his  sheepf  olds,  and  how, 
quite  friendless  as  he  was,  he  went  along  cheerful,  mirthful,  and 
musical.  I  do  not  well  understand  the  man ;  his  significance  is 
perhaps  considerable.  His  poetic  talent  is  authentic,  yet  his  intel- 
lect seems  of  the  weakest ;  his  morality  also  limits  itself  to  the  pre- 
cept "Be  not  angry."  Is  the  charm  of  this  poor  man  chiefly  to  be 
found  herein,  that  he  is  a  real  product  of  nature,  and  able  to  speak 
naturally,  which  not  one  in  a  thousand  is  ?  An  '  unconscious  tal- 
ent,' though  of  the  smallest,  emphatically  naive.  Once  or  twice  in 
singing  (for  he  sung  of  his  own)  there  was  an  emphasis  in  poor 
Hogg's  look — expression  of  feeling,  almost  of  enthusiasm.  The 
man  is  a  very  curious  specimen.  Alas!  he  is  a  man;  yet  how  few 
will  so  much  as  treat  him  like  a  specimen,  and  not  like  a  mere  wood- 
en Punch  or  Judy!  For  the  rest,  our  talk  was  utterly  despicable: 
stupidity,  insipidity,  even  not  a  little  obscenity  (in  which  all  save 
Gait,  Fraser,  and  myself  seemed  to  join),  was  the  only  outcome  of 
the  night.  Literary  men!  They  are  not  worthy  to  be  valets  of 
such.  Was  a  thing  said  that  did  not  even  solicit  in  mercy  to  be 
forgotten?  Not  so  much  as  the  attempt  or  wish  to  speak  profitably. 
Trimalitas  trivialitatum,  omnia  trimalitas!  I  went  to  see,  and  I 
saw;  and  have  now  said,  and  mean  to  be  silent,  or  try  if  I  can 
speak  elsewhere." 

Charles  Buller  entertained  as  unfavorable  an  opinion  of  London 
magazine  writers  as  Carlyle  himself.  Mrs.  Strachey's  alarm  about 
Buller's  theories  of  life  may  be  corrected  by  a  letter  from  himself. 
The  Bullers  were  at  this  time  at  Looe,  in  Cornwall.  They  came  to 
town  in  October. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  137 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"  Looe:  September  12, 1831. 

"My  dear  Friend, — I  am  very  happy  to  hear  from  Mrs.  Austin 
that  you  had  called  on  her,  because  I  was  really  anxious  that  you 
should  know  so  admirable  a  specimen  of  the  disciples  of  Bentham 
and  be  known  to  her.  But  I  felt  half  afraid  to  introduce  you  be- 
cause I  did  not  know  how  you  would  get  on  with — not  herself,  be- 
cause she  being  a  Benthamite  has  taken  on  herself  human  form  and 
nature,  and  is  a  most  delightful  specimen  of  the  union  of  Bentham- 
ite opinions  and  human  feelings — but  with  the  more  regular  Rad- 
icals who  render  the  approach  to  her  house  dangerous.  Conceive 
how  great  was  my  pleasure  at  learning  from  her  that  you  had  called 
on  her;  that  you  had  come  for  the  purpose  of  making  acquaintance 
with  John  Mill ;  and  that  you  had  met  him  to  your  mutual  delight. 
I  knew  well  that,  to  make  you  esteem  one  another,  nothing  was 
wanting  but  that  you  should  understand  each  other.  But  I  did 
not  do  sufficient  justice  to  the  Catholicism  of  both  of  you  to  feel 
quite  confident  that  this  would  be  the  certain  effect  of  your  meeting. 
In  this  world  of  sects  people  rarely  talk  to  each  other  for  any  pur- 
pose but  to  find  out  the  sectarian  names  which  they  may  fasten  on 
each  other ;  and,  if  the  name  but  differs,  they  only  spend  their  time 
in  finding  out  the  various  ramifications  of  each  other's  dissensions. 
In  names  and  professed  doctrines  you  and  John  Mill  differ  as  wide- 
ly as  the  poles;  but  you  may  well  meet  on  that  point  where  all 
clear  spirits  find  each  other,  the  love  of  truth,  which  all  must  attain 
in  their  road  to  truth.  To  you  without  any  fear  I  point  out  John 
Mill  as  a  true  Utilitarian,  and  as  one  who  does  honor  to  his  creed 
and  to  his  fellow-believers;  because  it  is  a  creed  that  in  him  is  with- 
out sectarian  narrowness  or  unkindness,  because  it  has  not  impaired 
his  philosophy  or  his  relish  for  the  beautiful,  or  repressed  any  one 
of  those  good  honest  feelings  which  God  gave  all  men  before  Ben- 
tham made  them  Utilitarians. 

"I  am  delighted  at  the  certain  prospect  which  you  hold  out  to  me 
of  seeing  you,  and  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Carlyle.  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  talk  once  more  of  old  times,  and  of  those 
which  are  coming,  to  tell  of  what  we  used  to  do  and  think  together, 
and  of  all  that  we  have  done  and  learned  and  planned  since  we 
have  wandered  many  a  weary  foot  from  one  another.  Thus  I  shall 
learn  from  you  what  are  the  outlines  of  the  great  work  which  you 
are  now  committing  to  the  judgment  of  a  thoughtless  age;  and 
what  manner  of  life  you  have  been  leading  in  the  North,  and  what 
kind  of  one  you  propose  now.  I,  in  my  turn,  will  tell  you  of  some 
little  time  well  employed,  and  of  much  misspent;  of  various  studies, 
and  creeds,  and  theories,  of  many  great  designs,  and  of  a  very  small 
portion  of  successful  fulfilment  thereof.  I  will  tell  you  of  my  as- 
siduous study  of  the  law,  of  how  the  worthy  burghers  of  Liskeard 
have  come  to  me  and  offered  me  a  seat  for  this  borough  whenever 
the  Reform  Bill  shall  be  passed,  and  of  all  that  I  propose  to  do 
when  I  become  the  most  eminent  of  lawyers  and  the  most  furious 
of  demagogues.  These  matters  I  promise  myself  to  talk  over  with 
you  in  the  city  of  smoke  and  season  of  fog,  where  I  trust  I  shall 
meet  you  in  exactly  a  month. 


138  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"I  rejoice  that  you  think  so  highly  of  John  Mill.  I  have  just 
heard  from  him,  and  I  am  happy  that  he  understands  and  esteems 
you,  as  you  do  him.  This  is  as  it  should  be.  I  do  not  see  how  it 
matters  to  one  right-minded  man  in  what  course  the  opinions  of 
another  fly  as  long  as  both  spring  from  the  same  sacred  well  of 
love  of  truth.  I  do  not  believe  that  you  really  differ  very  much 
in  opinion;  sure  I  am  that  you  will  find  none  of  any  set  of  men 
more  deserving  to  think  rightly  than  John  Mill,  who  thinks  deeply 
and  honestly  always.  He  is  very  different  from  the  herd  of  creat- 
ures whom  you  have  been  pestered  with  in  that  great  mart  of  con- 
ceited folly,  where  the  hawkers  of  every  kind  of  shallowness 
and  quackery  vend  their  wares  in  such  numbers  and  with  such 
clamor.  This  age  is  the  millennium  of  fools.  They  have  certainly 
by  some  means  or  another  obtained  a  mastery  over  better  men.  I  do 
believe  that  in  this  land  of  ours  there  still  exists  the  good  old  spirit 
of  industry  and  thoughtfulness  and  honesty  which  used  to  animate 
our  fathers.  Yet  in  literature  we  are  represented  by  our  magazine 
writers  and  reviewers  (verbo  sit  venia),  and  annals,  and  fashionable 
novels,  and  fashionable  metaphysics  and  philosophy;  and  our  con- 
cerns are  managed  by  the  creatures  whom  you  heard  gabbling  in  the 
House  of  Commons  with  a  gravity  and  an  ignorance  which  are  not 
found  combined  even  in  the  servants'  hall. 

"  I  do  believe,  with  you,  that  the  end  of  this  world  of  Insipids  is 
coming.  We  must  kick  away  the  distaff  of  Omphale  and  get  up 
and  bestir  ourselves  to  rid  the  world  of  monsters.  Whether  we 
shall  labor  to  good  purpose,  or  only  show  our  strength  as  Hercules 
did  in  tearing  ourselves  to  pieces,  it  is  not  yet  given  us  to  know; 
but,  whenever  there  is  a  day  of  awakening,  I  trust  that  all  good  men 
and  true  will  unite  against  the  fools,  and  take  at  least  30,000  of  them 
into  the  valley  of  salt  and  slay  them. 

"  All  other  matters  I  reserve  for  our  meeting,  which  will  certainly 
take  place  before  long,  unless  the  cholera  or  such  like  curse  severs 
us,  or  unless  the  Reform  Bill  is  thrown  out,  in  which  case  I  shall  as- 
suredly remain  here  with  any  two  or  three  who  may  be  found  to 
fight  against  the  '  Rotten-hearted  Lords. '  But  there  will  be  more 
than  that ;  almost  as  many  as  there  are  men. 

"Adieu!  with  my  father's  and  mother's  and  Arthur's  best  re- 
gards. Yours  sincerely, 

"  CHARLES  BULLER." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A.D.  1832.     JET.  37. 

A  GREAT  catastrophe  was  now  impending  in  Carlyle's  life.  His 
father  had  been  ailing  for  more  than  two  years,  sometimes  recover- 
ing a  little,  then  relapsing  again;  and  after  each  oscillation  he  had 
visibly  sunk  to  a  lower  level.  The  family  anticipated  no  immedi- 
ate danger,  but  he  had  himself  been  steadily  contemplating  the  end 
as  fast  approaching  him,  as  appears  plainly  from  a  small  feeble  note 
which  had  been  written  on  the  21st  of  September  of  this  year,  and 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  139 

remains  fastened  into  his  son's  note-book,  where  it  is  endorsed  as 
"My  father's  last  letter — perhaps  the  last  thing  he  ever  wrote." 

"My  dear  Son, — I  cannot  write  you  a  letter,  but  just  tell  you  that 
I  am  a  frail  old  sinner  that  is  very  likely  never  to  see  you  any  more 
in  this  world.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  could  not  help  telling  you  that 
I  feel  myself  gradually  drawing' towards  the  hour  appointed  for  all 
living.  And,  O  God!  may  that  awful  change  be  much  at  heart 
with  every  one  of  us.  May  we  be  daily  dying  to  sin  and  living  to 
righteousness.  And  may  the  God  of  Jacob  be  with  you  and  bless 
you,  and  keep  you  in  his  ways  and  fear.  I  add  no  more,  but  leave 
you  in  his  hands  and  care.  JAMES  CARLYLE.  " 

The  old  man  at  parting  with  his  son  in  the  summer  gave  him 
some  money  out  of  a  drawer  with  the  peculiar  manner  which  the 
Scotch  call  fey — the  sign  of  death  when  a  man  does  something  which 
is  unlike  himself.  Carlyle  paid  no  particular  attention  to  it,  how- 
ever, till  the  meaning  of  the  unusual  action  was  afterwards  made 
intelligible  to  him.  The  reports  from  Scotsbrig  in  the  autumn  and 
early  winter  had  been  more  favorable  than  usual.  On  the  13th  of 
December,  Carlyle  sent  him,  evidently  without  any  great  misgiving, 
the  last  letter  which  he  on  his  side  ever  wrote  to  his  father: 

"4  Ampton  Street,  London:  December  13, 1831. 

"  My  dear  Father, — I  have  long  proposed  to  myself  the  pleasure 
of  writing  you  a  letter,  and  must  now  do  it  much  more  hurriedly 
than  I  could  have  wished.  I  did  not  mean  to  undertake  it  till  next 
week,  for  at  present  I  am  engaged  every  moment  against  time,  finish- 
ing an  article  for  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  can  expect  no  respite 
till  after  Saturday  night.  However,  our  Lord-advocate  having  called 
to-day  and  furnished  me  with  a  frank,  I  embrace  the  opportunity 
lest  none  so  good  occur  afterwards. 

"  Alick  informed  me  in  general,  about  ten  days  ago,  that  you  were 
'  all  well.'  In  the  last  newspaper 1  stood  a  word  from  Jean  that  she 
'  would  write  soon. '  I  can  only  pray  that  she  would  do  so,  and 
hope  in  the  meantime  that  she  may  have  no  worse  news  to  tell  me. 
This  weather  is  very  unhealthy — the  worst  of  the  whole  year;  I 
often  think  how  my  mother  and  you  are  getting  on  under  it.  I  hope 
at  least  you  will  take  every  care,  and  do  not  needlessly  or  needfully 
expose  yourself;  it  is  bad  policy  to  brave  the  weather,  especially  for 
you  at  this  season.  I  pray  you  keep  much  within-doors ;  beware  of 
cold,  especially  of  damp  feet.  A  cup  of  tea  night  and  morning  I 
should  also  think  a  good  preventive.  But  perhaps  Jean  will  be  able 
to  inform  me  that  '  all  is  well ;'  one  of  the  blessings  I  ought  to  be 
most  thankful  for,  as  it  is  among  the  most  precious  for  me. 

"  We  are  struggling  forward  here  as  well  as  we  can.  My  health 
is  not  worse  than  it  was  wont  to  be.  1  think  I  am  even  clearer  and 
fresher  than  when  you  saw  me  last.  Jane  has  been  complaining 

» The  family  still  communicated  with  one  another  ty  hieroglyphics  on  the  news- 
papers. 


140  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

somewhat,  but  is  not  regularly  sick.  Her  cold  has  left  her,  and  now 
she  has  a  little  occasional  cough  with  weakliness,  the  like  of  which 
is  very  prevalent  here  at  present.  George  Irving  has  been  attempt- 
ing to  prescribe  for  her;  she  even  let  him  draw  a  little  blood.  I 
rather  think,  however,  that  her  faith  in  physicians  is  somewhat  on  a 
level  with  my  own;  that  she  will  give  them  no  more  of  her  blood, 
but  trust  to  exercise,  diet,  and  the  return  of  settled  weather. 

"  I  cannot  get  on  with  the  publishing  of  my  book.  Nobody  will 
so  much  as  look  at  a  thing  of  the  sort  till  this  Reform  business  be 
done.  Nay,  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I  shall  at  all  during  the  pres- 
ent posture  of  affairs  get  my  speculation  put  into  print.  There  is 
only  a  limited  time  that  I  will  consent  to  wait  looking  after  it.  If 
they  do  not  want  it,  why  then  let  them  leave  it  alone.  Either  way 
will  do  for  me;  I  only  want  to  know  which.  Meanwhile  I  am  mak- 
ing what  little  attempts  about  it  seem  prudent.  If  I  altogether  fail 
here,  I  may  still  have  Edinburgh  to  try  in.  One  way  or  another,  I 
wish  to  be  at  the  end  of  it,  and  will  be  so.  Our  Advocate,  who  is 
now  quite  recovered  again  and  as  brisk  as  a  bee,  would  fain  do 
something  useful  for  me — find  me  some  place  or  other  that  would 
keep  me  here.  I  know  he  has  spoken  of  me  to  Chancellors  and 
Secretaries  of  State,  and  would  take  all  manner  of  pains ;  neverthe- 
less, I  compute  simply  that  the  result  of  it  all  will  be — Nothing ;  and 
I  still  look  back  to  my  whinstone  fortress  among  the  mountains  as 
the  stronghold  wherefrom  I  am  to  defy  the  world.  I  have  applica- 
tions enough  for  writing,  some  of  them  new  since  I  came  hither. 
So  long  as  I  can  wag  the  pen  there  is  no  fear  of  me.  I  also  incline 
to  think  that  something  might  and  perhaps  should  be  done  by  such 
as  me  in  the  way  of  lecturing;  but  not  at  this  time — not  under  these 
circumstances.  We  will  wait,  and,  if  it  seems  good,  try  it  again.  On 
the  whole,  I  always  return  to  this.  As  the  great  Guide  orders,  so  be 
it!  While  I  can  say  His  will  be  mine,  there  is  no  power  in  earth  or 
out  of  it  that  can  put  me  to  fear. 

"  I  could  describe  our  way  of  life  here,  which  is  very  simple,  had 
I  room.  Plenty  of  people  come  about  us;  we  go  out  little  to  any- 
thing like  parties,  never  to  dinners,  or  anywhere  willingly  except 
for  profit.  I  transact  sometimes  immense  quantities  of  talk— indeed, 
often  talk  more  than  I  listen;  which  course  I  think  of  altering.  It 
is  and  continues  a  wild  wondrous  chaotic  den  of  discord,  this  Lon- 
don. I  am  often  woe  and  awe-struck  at  once  to  wander  along  its 
crowded  streets,  and  see  and  hear  the  roaring  torrent  of  men  and 
animals  and  carriages  and  wagons,  all  rushing  they  know  not 
whence,  they  know  not  whither!  Nevertheless,  there  is  a  deep  divine 
meaning  in  it,  and  God  is  in  the  midst  of  it,  had  we  but  eyes  to  see. 
Towards  two  o'clock  I  am  about  laying  down  my  pen,  to  walk  till 
as  near  dinner  (at  four) as  I  like;  then  comes  usually  resting  stretched 
on  a  sofa,  with  such  small  talk  as  may  be  going  till  tea ;  after  which, 
unless  some  interloper  drop  in  (as  happens  fully  oftener  than  not),  I 
again  open  my  desk  and  work  till  bedtime — about  eleven.  I  have 
had  a  tough  struggle  indeed  with  this  paper ;  but  my  hand  is  now  in 
again,  and  I  am  doing  better.  Charles  Buller  comes  now  and  then 
about  us;  a  fine  honest  fellow,  among  the  best  we  see.  There  is  also 
one  Glen  (a  young  unhewed  philosopher,  a  friend  of  Jack's),  and  one 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  141 

Mill,  a  young  hewed  philosopher  and  partial  disciple  of  mine :  both 
great  favorites  here.  W.  Graham,  of  Barnswark,  was  in  our  neigh- 
borhood for  three  weeks,  and  will  be  arriving  in  Glasgow  again 
about  this  very  night,  unless  he  have  struck  in  by  Ecclef  echan  and 
home.  He  is  busy  with  some  American  patents,  and  so  forth ;  from 
which  he  is  sure  of  a  salary  for  one  year,  but  I  think  scarcely  of 
anything  more.  The  American  Consulship,  of  which  he  hoped 
much,  has  gone  another  road.  He  is  fresh  and  healthy,  and  I  hope 
will  fall  in  with  something.  Irving  does  not  come  much  here;  only 
once  since  that  gift-of-tongues  work  began,  and  we  have  not  been 
even  once  with  him.  It  was  last  week  that  he  called.  He  looked 
hollow  and  haggard;  thin,  gray-whiskered,  almost  an  old  man;  yet 
he  was  composed  and  affectionate  and  patient.  I  could  almost  have 
wept  over  him,  and  did  tell  him  my  mind  with  all  plainness.  It 
seems  likely  they  will  take  his  church  from  him,  and  then  difficul- 
ties of  all  sorts  may  multiply  on  him;  but  I  do  not  think  he  will  al- 
together lose  his  wits — at  least,  not  so  as  to  land  in  Bedlam ;  and  per- 
haps he  may  yet  see  his  way  through  all  this,  and  leave  it  all  behind 
him.  God  grant  it  be  so.  I  have  hardly  another  scrap  of  room  here. 
I  must  scrawl  my  mother  a  line,  and  then  bid  you  all  good-night. 
' '  I  remain  always,  my  dear  father, 

"Your  affectionate  son,  T.  CARLTLE." 

John  Carlyle  was  now  with  Lady  Clare  at  Rome.  To  him,  busy 
as  he  was,  his  brother  continued  to  write  with  anxious  fulness. 
John  Carlyle,  with  considerable  talent,  had  shown  an  instability  of 
purpose,  for  which  he  received,  if  he  did  not  require,  a  steadily  sus- 
tained stream  of  admonition. 

' '  It  was  very  gratifying  to  us  [Carlyle  wrote  on  the  20th  of  Decem- 
ber] to  learn  that  all  went  tolerably  with  you,  both  as  person  and  as 
doctor.  Continue  to  wish  honestly  with  your  whole  heart  to  act 
rightly,  and  you  will  not  go  far  wrong:  no  other  advice  is  needed,  or 
can  be  given.  I  have  never  despaired,  and  now  I  feel  more  and  more 
certain,  of  one  day  seeing  you  a  man;  this,  too,  in  a  time  like  ours, 
when  such  a  result  is  of  all  others  the  hardest  to  realize.  One  has  to 
learn  the  hard  lesson  of  martyrdom,  and  that  he  has  arrived  in  this 
earth,  not  to  receive,  but  to  give.  Let  him  be  ready  then  '  to  spend 
and  be  spent '  for  God's  cause ;  let  him,  as  he  needs  must,  '  set  his  face 
like  a  flint '  against  all  dishonesty  and  indolence,  and  puffery  and 
quackery,  and  malice  and  delusion,  whereof  earth  is  full,  and  once 
for  all  flatly  refuse  to  do  the  Devil's  work  in  this  which  is  God's 
earth,  let  the  issue  be  simply  what  it  may.  'I  must  live,  sir,'  say 
many  ;  to  which  I  answer,  '  No,  sir,  you  need  not  live  ;  if  your  body 
cannot  be  kept  together  without  selling  your  soul,  then  let  the  body 
fall  asunder,  and  the  soul  be  unsold.'  In  brief,  Jack,  defy  the  Devil 
in  all  his  figures,  and  spit  upon  him;  he  cannot  hurt  you." 

The  good  old  mother  at  Scotsbrig  was  fluttered  about  her  scat- 
tered children. 

"Our  mother  [wrote  one  of  the  sisters]  has  been  healthier  than 
usual  this  winter,  but  terribly  hadden  down  wi'  anxiety.  She  told 


143  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

me  the  other  day  the  first  gaet  she  gaed  every  morning  was  to  Lon- 
don, then  to  Italy,  then  to  Craigenputtock, 1  and  then  to  Mary's,  and 
finally  began  to  think  them  at  name  were,  maybe,  no  safer  than  the 
rest.  When  I  asked  her  what  she  wished  me  to  say  to  you,  she  said 
she  had  a  thousand  things  to  say  if  she  had  you  here;  'and  thou 
may  tell  them,  I'm  very  little  fra'  them.'  You  are  to  pray  for  us  all 
daily,  while  separated  from  one  another,  that  our  ways  be  in  God's 
keeping.  You  are  also  to  tell  the  doctor,  when  you  write,  with  her 
love,  that  he  is  to  read  his  Bible  carefully,  and  not  to  forget  that 
God  sees  him  in  whatever  land  he  may  be. " 

This  message  Carlyle  duly  sent  on,  and  with  it  the  continued 
diary  of  his  own  doings. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  I  have  had  such  a  bout  as  never  man  had  in  finishing  a  kind  of 
paper  for  Macvey."  I  called  the  thing  'Characteristics,'  and  de- 
spatched it,  according  to  engagement,  by  the  Saturday  mail-coach. 
Whether  Napier  will  have  it  or  not  is  uncertain  to  me ;  but  no  mat- 
ter, or  only  a  secondary  one,  for  the  thing  has  some  truth  in  it,  and 
could  find  vent  elsewhere.  It  is  Teufelsdr5ckhish,  and  preaches 
from  this  text :  '  The  healthy  know  not  of  their  health,  but  only  the 
sick. '  As  to  Teuf elsdrockh  himself,  hope  has  not  yet  risen  for  him ; 
nay,  rather,  certainly  begins  to  show  itself  that  he  has  no  hope. 
Glen  read  the  MS.  '  with  infinite  satisfaction;'  John  Mill  with  fears 
that  '  the  world  would  take  some  time  to  see  what  meaning  was  in 
it. '  '  Perhaps  all  eternity, '  I  answered.  For  the  rest,  we  have  par- 
tially made  up  our  minds  here  and  see  the  course  we  have  to  fol- 
low. Preferment  there  is  none  to  be  looked  for;  living  here  by  lit- 
erature is  either  serving  the  Devil,  or  fighting  against  him  at  fearful 
odds;  in  lecturing  it  is  also  quite  clear  there  could  no  profitable 
audience  be  had  as  yet,  where  every  lecturer  is  by  nature  a  quack 
and  tinkling  cymbal.  So  what  will  remain  but  to  thank  God  that 
our  whinstoue  castle  is  still  standing  among  the  mountains;  and  re- 
turn thither  to  work  there,  till  we  can  make  a  new  sally.  God  be 
thanked,  neither  my  wife  nor  I  am  capable  of  being  staggered  by 
any  future  that  the  world  can  proffer.  '  From  the  bosom  of  eternity 
shine  for  us  radiant  guiding  stars.'  Nay,  our  task  is  essentially  high 
and  glorious  and  happy;  God  only  give  us  strength  to  do  it  well! 
Meanwhile,  offers  in  the  literary  periodical  way  come  thick  enough. 
Three  or  four  weeks  ago  Procter  wrote  to  me  that  E.  L.  Bulwer  had 
'  some  disposition '  to  employ  me  in  the  New  Monthly  Magazine,  of 
which  he  is  editor,  and  that  it  would  be  advisable  for  me  to  call  on 
him ;  to  which  proposal  of  course  there  could  be  no  answer,  except 
mild  silence — der  Inbegriff  aller  Harmonieen.  Whereupon  in  ten 
days  more  the  mystagogue  of  the  dandiacal  body  wrote  to  me  a  most 
bland  and  euphuistically  flattering  note,  soliciting  an  interview  as 
my  'admirer.'  I  answered  that  for  some  days  I  was  too  busy  to 
call,  but  would  when  I  had  leisure,  as  I  yesterday  did;  and  found 

1  Where  Alexander  Carlyle  was  still  stayiug,  without  the  farm;  having  found  no 
other  in  its  place. 
*  Napier,  for  the  Edinburgh. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  143 

him  from  home.  I  have  also  looked  into  his  magazine,  and  find  it 
polished,  sharp,  and  barren — yet  not  altogether — the  work  as  of  gig- 
men,  or  rather  g\^-boys  and  whig-boys  aiming  blindly  enough  tow- 
ards something  higher;  Ahndungen  einer  bessern  Zeit!  My  business 
being  to  see  all  men,  I  will  in  time  look  towards  the  '  Inspired  Pen- 
man '  once  more  and  ascertain  better  what  his  relation  to  me  really 
is.  I  have  articles  in  my  head,  but  if  Naso  [Napier]  behave  himself 
he  shall  have  the  pick  of  them." 

Napier  unexpectedly  and  even  gratefully  accepted  "Characteris- 
tics." He  confessed  that  he  could  not  understand  it;  but  every- 
thing which  Carlyle  wrote,  he  said,  had  the  indisputable  stamp  of 
genius  upon  it,  and  was  therefore  most  welcome  to  the  Edinburgh 
Review.  Lytton  Bulwer  pressed  for  an  article  on  Frederick  the 
Great ;  Hay  ward  was  anxious  that  a  final  article  should  be  written 
on  Goethe,  to  punish  Wilson  for  his  outrages  against  the  great  Ger- 
man in  the  "Noctes  Ambrosiana?."  Hay  ward,  too,  had  done  Car- 
lyle a  still  more  seasonable  service,  for  he  had  induced  Dr.  Lardner 
to  promise  to  take  Carlyle's  "History  of  German  Literature  "  for  the 
"Cabinet  Encyclopedia."  The  articles  on  the  subject  which  had 
already  appeared  were  to  form  part  of  it ;  some  new  matter  was  to 
be  added  to  round  off  the  story;  and  the  whole  was  to  be  bound  up 
into  a  Zur  Geschichte,  for  which  Carlyle  was  to  receive  300J.  To 
Hay  ward,  then  and  always,  he  was  heartily  grateful  for  this  piece  of 
service,  though  eventually,  as  will  be  seen,  it  came  to  nothing.  These 
brightening  prospects  were  saddened  by  the  deaths  of  various  emi- 
nent persons  whom  he  held  in  honor.  Dr.  Becker  died  of  cholera 
at  Berlin,  then  Hegel  from  cholera  also ;  and,  still  worse,  his  old  friend 
Mr.  Strachey,  whom  he  had  met  lately  in  full  health,  was  seized  with 
inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  was  carried  off  hi  a  few  days. 

Worst  of  all — the  worse  because  entirely  unlocked  for — came  fatal 
news  from  Scotsbrig,  contained  in  a  sternly  tender  characteristic 
note  from  his  sister  Jean. 

To  Thomas  Carlyle. 

"Scotsbrig:  January  22, 1832. 

''  My  dear  Brother, — It  is  now  my  painful  duty  to  inform  you  that 
our  dear  father  took  what  we  thought  was  a  severe  cold  last  Mon- 
day night ;  he  had  great  difficulty  in  breathing,  but  was  always  able 
to  sit  up  most  of  the  day,  and  sometimes  to  walk  about.  Last  night 
he  was  in  the  kitchen  about  six  o'clock,  but  he  was  evidently  turning 
very  fast  worse  in  breathing.  He  got  only  one  right  night's  sleep 
since  he  turned  ill,  and  had  been  sometimes  insensible;  but  when  one 
spoke  to  him,  he  generally  recollected  himself.  But  last  night  he 
fell  into  a  sort  of  stupor  about  ten  o'clock,  still  breathing  higher  and 
with  greater  difficulty.  He  spoke  little  to  any  of  us.  Seemingly 
unconscious  of  what  he  did,  he  came  over  the  bedside,  and  offered 
up  a  prayer  to  Heaven  in  such  accents  as  it  is  impossible  to  forget. 


144  LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

He  departed  almost  without  a  struggle  this  morning  at  half -past 
six.  The  funeral  is  to  be  on  Friday;  but  my  mother  says  she  can- 
not expect  you  to  be  here.  However,  you  must  write  to  her  directly. 
She  needs  consolation,  though  she  is  not  unreasonable;  but  it  was 
very  unexpected.  The  doctor  durst  do  nothing.  Oh,  my  dear 
brother,  how  often  have  we  written  '  all  well! '  I  cannot  write  more 
at  present.  Your  affectionate  sister, 

"JEAN  CAKLYLE." 
Subjoined  were  these  few  words: 

"  It  is  God  that  has  done  it;  be  still  my  dear  children. 

"  Your  affectionate  Mother." 

"The  common  theme 
Is  death  of  fathers;  reason  still  hath  cried, 
From  the  first  corse  till  he  that  died  to-day, 
This  must  be  so;" 

yet,  being  so  common,  it  was  still  "particular"  to  Carlyle.  The 
entire  family  were  knit  together  with  an  extremely  peculiar  bond. 
Their  affections,  if  not  limited  within  their  own  circle,  yet  were  re- 
served for  one  another  in  their  tenderest  form.  Friendship  the  Car- 
lyles  might  have  for  others;  their  love  was  for  those  of  their  own 
household;  while,  again,  independently  of  his  feeling  as  a  son,  Car- 
lyle saw,  or  believed  he  saw,  in  his.  father  personal  qualities  of  the 
rarest  and  loftiest  kind.  Though  the  old  man  had  no  sense  of  poetry, 
Carlyle  deliberately  says  that  if  he  had  been  asked  whether  his  father 
or  Robert  Burns  had  the  finest  intellect,  he  could  not  have  answered. 
Carlyle's  style,  which  has  been  so  much  wondered  at,  was  learned  in 
the  Annandale  farm-house;  and  beyond  the  intellect  there  was  an 
inflexible  integrity,  in  word  and  deed,  which  Carlyle  honored  above 
all  human  qualities.  The  aspect  in  which  he  regarded  human  life, 
the  unalterable  conviction  that  justice  and  truth  are  the  only  bases 
on  which  successful  conduct,  either  private  or  public,  can  be  safely 
rested,  he  had  derived  from  his  father,  and  it  was  the  root  of  all  that 
was  great  in  himself. 

Being  unable  to  be  present  at  the  funeral,  he  spent  the  intervening 
days  in  composing  the  memoir  which  has  been  published  as  the  first 
of  his  "  Reminiscences."  He  was  now  himself  the  head  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  on  him  also  fell  the  duty  of  addressing  the  remaining  mem- 
bers of  it  on  the  loss  which  had  befallen  them. 

As  the  subject  is  "common,"  so  all  that  can  be  said  upon  it — the 
sorrows,  the  consolations,  and  the  hopes — are  common  also.  The 
greatest  genius  that  ever  was  born  could  have  nothing  new  to  say 
about  death.  Carlyle  could  but  travel  along  the  well-worn  road; 
yet  what  he  wrote  is  still  beautiful,  still  characteristic,  though  the 
subject  of  it  is  hackneyed. 

"London:  January  26,  1832. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  was  down-stairs  this  morning  when  I  heard 
the  postman's  knock,  and  thought  it  might  be  a  letter  from  Scots- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  145 

brig.  Hastening  up,  I  found  Jane  with  the  letter  open  and  in  tears. 
The  next  moment  gave  me  the  stern  tidings.  I  had  written  you  yes- 
terday a  light,  hopeful  letter,  which  I  could  now  wish  you  might  not 
read  in  these  days  of  darkness.  Probably  you  will  receive  it  just 
along  with  this;  the  first  red  seal  so  soon  to  be  again  exchanged  for 
a  black  one.  I  had  a  certain  misgiving,  not  seeing  Jane's  customary 
'  all  well ;'  and  I  thought,  but  did  not  write  (for  I  strive  usually  to 
banish  vague  fears),  '  the  pitcher  goes  often  to  the  well,  but  it  is 
broken  at  last.'  I  did  not  know  that  this  very  evil  had  actually 
overtaken  us. 

"As  yet  I  am  in  no  condition  to  write  much.  The  stroke,  all  un- 
expected though  not  undreaded,  as  yet  painfully  crushes  my  heart 
together.  I  have  yet  hardly  had  a  little  relief  from  tears.  And  yet 
it  will  be  a  solace  to  me  to  speak  out  with  you,  to  repeat  along  with 
you  that  great  saying  which,  could  we  lay  it  rightly  to  heart,  includes 
all  that  man  can  say,  '  It  is  God  that  lias  done  it.'  God  supports  us 
all.  Yes,  my  dear  mother,  it  is  God  has  done  it;  and  our  part  is 
reverent  submission  to  His  will,  and  trustful  prayers  to  Him  for 
strength  to  bear  us  through  every  trial. 

• "  I  could  have  wished,  or  I  had  too  confidently  hoped,  that  God 
had  ordered  it  otherwise;  but  what  are  our  wishes  and  wills?  I 
trusted  that  I  might  have  had  other  glad  meetings  and  pleasant 
communings  with  my  honored  and  honor-worthy  father  in  this 
world,  but  it  was  not  so  appointed.  We  shall  meet  no  more  till  we 
meet  in  that  other  sphere  where  God's  presence  more  immediately 
is;  the  nature  of  which  we  know  not,  only  we  know  that  it  is  God's 
appointing,  and  therefore  altogether  good.  Nay,  already,  had  we 
but  faith,  our  father  is  not  parted  from  us,  but  only  withdrawn  from 
our  bodily  eyes.  The  dead  and  the  living,  as  I  often  repeat  to  my- 
self, are  alike  with  God.  He,  fearful  and  wonderful,  yet  good  and 
infinitely  gracious,  encircles  alike  both  them  that  we  see  and  them 
that  we  cannot  see.  Whoso  trusteth  in  Him  has  obtained  the  victory 
over  death ;  the  King  of  Terrors  is  no  longer  terrible. 

' '  Yes,  my  dear  mother,  and  brothers  and  sisters,  let  us  see  also 
how  mercy  has  been  mingled  with  our  calamity.  Death  was  for  a 
long  time  ever  present  to  our  father's  thought;  daily  and  hourly  he 
seemed  meditating  on  his  latter  end.  The  end,  too,  appears  to  have 
been  mild  as  it  was  speedy;  he  pai-ted  as  gently  as  most  do  from  this 
vale  of  tears;  and,  oh!  in  his  final  agony  he  was  enabled  to  call  with 
his  strong  voice  and  strong  heart  on  the  God  that  had  made  him  to 
have  mercy  on  him!  Which  prayer,  doubt  not  one  of  you,  the  All- 
merciful  licard,  and,  in  such  wise  as  infinite  mercy  might,  gave  an- 
swer to.  And  what  is  the  death  of  one  near  to  us,  as  I  have  often 
thought,  but  the  setting-out  on  a  journey  an  hour  before  us,  which 
journey  we  have  all  to  travel?  What  is  the  longest  earthly  life  to 
the  eternity,  the  endless,  the  beginuingless  which  encircles  it?  The 
oldest  man  and  the  new-born  babe  are  but  divided  from  each  other 
by  a  single  hair's  -  breadth.  For  myself,  I  have  long  continually 
meditated  on  death  till,  by  God's  grace,  it  has  grown  transparent  for 
me,  and  holy  and  great  rather  than  terrific;  till  I  see  that  death, 
what  mortals  call  death,  is  properly  the  beginning  of  life.  One  oth- 
er comfort  we  have  to  take  the  bitterness  out  of  our  tears — this  great  - 

II. -7 


146  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

est  of  all  comforts,  and  properly  the  only  one,  that  our  father  was 
not  called  away  till  he  had  done  his  work,  and  done  it  faithfully. 
Yes,  we  can  with  a  holy  pride  look  at  our  father  there  where  he  lies 
low,  and  say  that  his  task  was  well  and  manfully  performed;  the 
strength  that  God  had  given  him  he  put  forth  in  the  ways  of  honesty 
and  well-doing ;  no  eye  will  ever  see  a  hollow,  deceitful  work  that 
he  did;  the  world  wants  one  true  man  since  he  was  taken  away. 
When  we  consider  his  life,  through  what  hardships  and  obstructions 
he  struggled,  and  what  he  became  and  what  he  did,  there  is  room  for 
gratitude  that  God  so  bore  him  on.  Oh,  what  were  it  now  to  us  that 
he  had  been  a  king  ?  now,  when  the  question  is  not,  What  wages 
hadst  thou  for  thy  work  ?  but,  How  was  thy  work  done? 

"My  dear  brothers  and  sisters,  sorrow  not,  I  entreat  you — sorrow 
is  profitless  and  sinful;  but  meditate  deeply  every  one  of  you  on 
this:  none  of  us  but  started  in  life  with/ar  greater  advantages  than 
our  dear  father  had:  we  will  not  weep  for  him,  but  we  will  go  and 
do  as  he  has  done.  Could  I  write  my  books  as  he  built  his  houses, 
and  walk  my  way  so  manfully  through  this  shadow  world,  and  leave 
it  with  so  little  blame,  it  were  more  than  all  my  hopes.  Neither  are 
you,  my  beloved  mother,  to  let  your  heart  be  heavy.  Faithfully 
you  toiled  by  his  side,  bearing  and  forbearing  as  you  both  could. 
All  that  was  sinful  and  of  the  earth  has  passed  away;  all  that  was 
true  and  holy  remains  forever,  and  the  parted  shall  meet  together 
again  with  God.  Amen!  so  be  it!  We,  your  children,  whom  you 
have  faithfully  cared  for,  soul  and  body,  and  brought  up  in  the 
nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord,  we  gather  round  you  in  this 
solemn  hour,  and  say,  Be  of  comfort!  well  done,  hitherto;  perse- 
vere, and  it  shall  be  well !  We  promise  here,  before  God,  and  the 
awful  yet  merciful  work  of  God's  hand,  that  we  will  continue  to 
love  and  honor  you,  as  sinful  children  can.  And  now,  do  you  pray 
for  us  all,  and  let  us  all  pray  in  such  language  as  we  have  for  one 
another,  so  shall  this  sore  division  and  parting  be  the  means  of  a 
closer  union.  Let  us  and  every  one  know  that,  though  this  world 
is  full  of  briers,  and  we  are  wounded  at  every  step  as  we  go,  and  one 
by  one  must  take  farewell  and  weep  bitterly,  yet  '  there  remaineth  a 
rest  for  the  people  of  God.'  Yes,  for  the  people  of  God  there  re- 
maineth a  rest,  that  rest  which  in  this  world  they  could  nowhere  find. 

"And  now  again  I  say,  do  not  grieve  any  one  of  you  beyond 
what  nature  forces  and  you  cannot  help.  Pray  to  God,  'if  any  of 
you  have  a  voice  and  utterance;  all  of  you  pray  always,  in  secret 
and  silence — if  faithful,  ye  shall  be  heard  openly.  I  cannot  be  with 
you  to  speak,  but  read  in  the  Scriptures  as  I  would  have  done. 
Kead,  I  especially  ask,  in  Matthew's  Gospel,  that  passion,  and  death, 
and  farewell  blessing  and  command  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth;  and  see 
if  you  can  understand  and  feel  what  is  the  '  divine  depth  of  sorrow,' 
and  how  even  by  suffering  and  sin  man  is  lifted  up  to  God,  and  in 
great  darkness  there  shines  a  light.  If  you  cannot  read  it  aloud  in 
common,  then  do  each  of  you  take  his  Bible  in  private  and  read  it  for 
-himself.  Our  business  is  not  to  lament,  but  to  improve  the  lament- 
able, and  make  it  also  peaceably  work  together  for  greater  good. 

' '  I  could  have  wished  much  to  lay  my  honored  father's  head  in 
the  grave;  yet  it  could  have  done  no  one  good  save  myself  only,  and 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  147 

I  shall  not  ask  for  it.  Indeed,  when  I  remember,  that  right  would 
have  belonged  to  John  of  Cockermouth,  to  whom  I  offer  in  all 
heartiness  my  brotherly  love.  I  will  be  with  you  in  spirit  if  not  in 
person.  I  have  given  orders  that  no  one  is  to  be  admitted  here  till 
after  the  funeral  on  Friday.  I  mean  to  spend  these  hours  in  solemn 
meditation  and  self-examination,  and  thoughts  of  the  Eternal ;  such 
seasons  of  grief  are  sent  us  even  for  that  end.  God  knocks  at  our 
heart:  the  question  (is),  will  we  open  or  not?  I  shall  think  every 
night  of  the  candle  burning  in  that  sheeted  room,  where  our  dear 
sister  also  lately  lay.  O  God,  be  gracious  to  us,  and  bring  us  all 
one  day  together  in  himself!  After  Friday  I  return,  as  you  too 
must,  to  my  worldly  work;  for  that,  also,  is  work  appointed  us  by 
the  heavenly  Taskmaster.  I  will  write  to  John  to-night  or  to-mor- 
row. Let  me  hear  from  you  again  as  soon  as  you  have  composure. 
I  shall  hasten  all  the  more  homewards  for  this.  For  the  present,  I 
bid  God  ever  bless  you  all !  Pray  for  me,  my  dear  mother,  and  let 
us  ah1  seek  consolation  there. 

' '  I  am  ever  your  affectionate 

"T.  CAKLYLE." 

The  promised  letter  to  his  brother  was  written,  and  lies  before  me; 
but  a  few  sentences  only  need  be  extracted  from  what  is  essentially 
a  repetition  of  the  last. 

"Our  father's  end  was  happy;  he  had  lived  to  do  all  his  work, 
and  he  did  it  manfully.  His  departure,  too,  was  soft  and  speedy; 
that  last  strong  cry  01  his  in  the  death-struggle  to  God  for  deliver- 
ance, that  is  one  of  the  things  we  must  remember  forever.  Was  it 
not  the  fit  end  of  a  life  so  true  and  brave?  For  a  true  and  brave 
man,  such  as  there  are  too  few  left,  I  must  name  my  father.  If  we 
think  what  an  element  he  began  in,  how  he  with  modest,  unwearied 
endeavor  turned  all  things  to  the  best,  and  what  a  little  world  of 
good  he  had  created  for  himself,  we  may  call  his  life  an  honorable, 
a  noble  one.  In  some  respects  there  is  perhaps  no  man  like  him 
left.  Jane  and  I  were  just  remarking  two  days  ago  that  we  did  not 
know  any  man  whose  spiritual  faculties  had  such  a  stamp  of  natural 
strength.  Alas!  we  knew  not  that  already  he  was  hidden  from  our 
eyes.  I  call  such  a  man,  bred  up  in  poor  Annandale,  with  nothing 
but  what  the  chances  of  poor  Annandale  gave  him,  the  true  preacher 
of  a  gospel  of  freedom — of  what  men  can  do  and  be.  Let  his  mem- 
ory be  forever  holy  to  us:  let  us  each  in  his  several  sphere  go  and 
do  likewise. 

"For  myself,  death  is  the  most  familiar  of  all  thoughts  to  me — 
my  daily  and  hourly  companion.  Death  no  longer  seems  terrible; 
and  though  the  saddest  remembrances  rise  round  you,  and  natural 
grief  will  have  its  course,  we  can  say,  with  our  heroic  mother,  '  It 
is  God  that  has  done  it.'  Death,  properly,  is  but  a  hiding  from  m, 
from  our  fleshly  organs.  The  departed  are  still  with  us;  are  not 
both  they  and  we  in  the  hand  of  God?  A  little  while  and  we  shall 
all  meet;  nay,  perhaps  see  one  another  again!  As  God  will!  He  is 
great ;  lie  is  also  good.  There  we  must  leave  it,  weep  and  murmur 
as  we  will. 


148  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"I  feel,  my  dear  brother,  how  this  stroke  must  pain  you.  Speak 
of  it  as  we  may,  death  is  a  stern  event;  yet  also  a  great  and  sacred 
one.  How  holy  are  the  dead!  They  do  rest  from  their  labors,  and 
their  works  follow  them.  A  whole  section  of  the  past  seems  de- 
parted with  my  father — shut  out  from  me  by  an  impassable  barrier. 
He  could  tell  me  about  old  things,  and  was  wont  most  graphically 
to  do  so  when  I  went  to  Scotsbrig.  Now  he  will  do  so  no  more :  it 
is  past,  past!  The  force  that  dwelt  in  him  had  expended  itself; 
he  is  lost  from  our  eyes  in  that  ocean  of  time  wherein  our  little  islet 
of  existence  hangs  suspended,  ever  crumbling  in,  ever  anew  bodying 
itself  forth.  Fearful  and  wonderful !  Yet  let  us  know  that  under 
time  lies  eternity;  if  we  appear  and  are  (while  here)  in  time  and 
through  time,  which  means  change,  mortality,  we  also  stand  rooted 
in  eternity,  where  there  is  no  change,  no  mortality.  Be  of  comfort, 
then ;  be  of  courage !  '  The  fair  flowers  of  our  garland, '  said  Nova- 
lis,  '  are  dropping  off  here  one  by  one,  to  be  united  again  yonder 
fairer  and  forever.'  Let  it  be  so,  please  God.  His  will,  not  ours,  be 
done !" 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"4  Atnpton  Street:  January  30. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  have  determined  to  write  you  a  few  lines 
to-day,  my  mind,  and  I  trust  yours  also,  being  in  a  state  of  compos- 
ure; though  there  is  specially  nothing  more  to  be  said,  the  very 
sound  of  my  voice  will  do  you  good. 

"  Since  I  wrote  last  I  have  been  in  Scotsbrig  more  than  in  Lon- 
don: the  tumult  of  this  chaos  has  rolled  past  me  as  a  sound,  all 
empty,  with  which  I  had  nothing  to  do.  My  thought  was  in  the 
house  of  mourning,  present  with  you  and  with  the  departed.  We 
had  excluded  all  external  communication  from  us  till  the  funeral 
should  be  passed.  I  dwelt  with  my  deceased  father.  Our  whole 
speech  and  action  was  of  high,  solemn  matters.  I  walked  out  alone 
or  with  my  wife,  meditating,  peaceably  conversing  of  that  great 
event.  I  have  reason  to  be  very  thankful  that  much  composure  has 
been  vouchsafed  me.  I  never  so  saw  my  honored  father  and  his 
earnest,  toilsome,  manful  life  as  now  when  he  was  gone  from  me;  I 
never  so  loved  him,  find  felt  as  if  his  spirit  were  still  living  in  me — 
as  if  my  life  was  but  a  continuation  of  his,  and  to  be  led  in  the  same 
valiant  spirit  that  in  a  quite  other  sphere  so  distinguished  him.  Be 
the  great  Father  thanked  for  his  goodness;  chiefly  for  this,  if  He 
have  given  us  any  light  and  faith,  to  discern  and  reverence  His  mys- 
terious ways,  and  how  from  the  depths  of  grief  itself  there  rises 
mildly  a  holy  eternal  joy. 

"  Edward  Irving,  on  sending  up  his  name,  was  admitted  to  me  on 
Friday  afternoon.  His  wife  was  with  him.  He  prayed  with  us,  I 
think,  about  the  time  they  would  be  in  the  churchyard.  I  felt  that 
he  meant  kindly,  yet  cannot  say  that  either  his  prayer  or  his  conver- 
sation worked  otherwise  on  me  than  disturbingly.  I  had  partly  pur- 
posed sending  for  him,  but  was  then  thankful  I  had  not  done  it. 
His  whole  mind  is  getting  miserably  crippled  and  weakened ;  his  in- 
sane babble  about  his  tongues  and  the  like  were  for  me  like  froth  to 
the  hungry  and  thirsty.  My  father  was  a  Man,  and  should  be 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  149 

mourned  for  like  a  man.  We  had  to  forget  our  well-meaning  visit- 
ors, and  again  take  counsel  with  oursdvesf,  and  I  trust  with  the  God 
that  dwells  in  us — were  this  last  done  only  in  silence.  My  father's 
memory  has  become  very  holy  to  me ;  not  sorrowful,  but  great  and 
instructive.  I  could  repeat,  though  with  tears,  yet  with  softly  re- 
solved heart,  'Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord;  they  do 
rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works  follow  them.'  Yes,  their 
irnrks  are  not  lost;  no  grain  of  truth  that  was  in  them  but  belongs  to 
eternity  and  cannot  die. 

' '  Jane  faithfully  bore  and  suffered  with  me.  We  spoke  much.  I 
trust  that  she,  too,  is  one  day  to  '  become  perfect  through  suffering,' 
and  even  in  this  earth  to  struggle  unweariedly  towards  perfection  as 
towards  the  one  thing  needful.  We  talked  of  death  and  life,  with 
the  significance  of  each;  of  the  friends  we  had  lost;  of  the  friends 
still  mercifully  left  us,  and  the  duties  we  owed  to  them.  In  our  two 
fathers  we  found  a  great  similarity  with  so  much  outward  difference. 
Both  were  true  men,  such  as  the  world  has  not  many  to  show  now ; 
both  faithfully  labored  according  to  their  calling  in  God's  vineyard 
(which  this  world  is);  both  are  now  in  the  land  of  truth  and  light, 
while  we  still  toil  in  that  of  falsehood  and  shadows.  A  little  while, 
and  we  too  '  shall  reap  if  we  faint  not.'  Of  the  other  world  it  seems 
to  me  we  do  know  this,  and  this  only :  that  it  too'  is  God's  world ;  and 
that  for  us  and  for  our  buried  ones  He  hath  done,  and  will  do,  all 
things  well.  Let  us  rest  here ;  it  is  the  anchor  of  the  soul  both  sure 
and  steadfast ;  other  safety  there  is  none. 

"To  you  also,  my  dear  mother,  I  trust  the  call  has  not  been  made 
in  vain.  I  know  that  you  have  borne  yourself  with  heroism,  for  you 
have  the  true  strength  in  you.  Sad,  doubtless,  will  your  mood  long 
be — sadder,  perhaps,  than  ours,  than  mine.  Your  loss  is  the  keenest. 
The  companion  that  had  pilgrimed  by  your  side  for  seven-and-thirty 
years  is  suddenly  called  away.  Looking  on  that  hand,  you  now  see 
yourself  alone.  Not  alone,  dear  mother,  if  God  be  with  you!  Your 
children  also  are  still  round  you  to  bear  up  your  declining  years,  to 
protect  and  support  you,  to  love  you  with  the  love  we  owed  both 
our  parents.  Oh,  Providence  is  very  merciful  to  us ! 

"Neither  let  any  one  of  us,  looking  back  on  the  departed,  mourn 
uselessly  over  our  faults  towards  him,  as  in  all  things  we  err  and 
come  short.  How  holy  are  the  dead !  How  willingly  we  take  all 
the  blame  on  ourselves  which  in  life  we  were  so  willing  to  divide.  I 
say,  let  us  not  lament  and  afflict  ourselves  over  these  things.  They 
were  of  the  earth,  earthy.  Now  lie  has  done  with  them;  they  do  him 
(nay,  except  for  his  own  earthly  sinf ulness,  they  did  him)  no  evil.  Let 
us  remember  only,  one  and  all  of  us,  this  truth,  and  lay  it  well  to 
heart  in  our  whole  conduct:  that  the  living  also  will  one  day  be 
dead ! 

"  On  the  whole,  it  is  for  the  living  only  that  we  are  called  to  live 
— 'to  work  while  it  is  still  to-day.'  We  will  dismiss  vain  sorrows, 
and  address  ourselves  with  new  heart  and  purer  endeavor  to  the 
tasks  appointed  us  in  life.  Forward!  forward!  Let  us  do  more 
faithfully  than  ever  what  yet  remains  to  be  done.  All  else  is  un- 
profitable and  a  wasting  of  our  strength. 

"We  two  are  purposing  to  come  homeward  early  in  March,  and 


150  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CAKLYLE. 

shall  most  likely  come  to  Scotsbrig  first.  I  have  (or  found  I  had  al- 
ready) as  good  as  concluded  that  bargain  about  the  '  Literary  His- 
tory.' I  have  a  paper  on  Johnson  to  write,  and  many  little  odds  and 
ends  to  adjust ;  after  which  we  seem  to  have  no  business  to  do  here, 
and  shall  march  and  leave  it  for  the  time.  For  myself,  I  fear  not 
the  world,  or  regard  it  a  jot,  except  as  the  great  task-garden  of  the 
Highest;  wherein  I  am  called  to  do  whatever  work  the  Taskmaster 
of  men  (wise  are  they  that  can  hear  and  obey  Him)  shall  please  to 
appoint  me.  What  are  its  frowns  or  its  favors  ?  What  are  its  diffi- 
culties and  falsehoods  and  hollow  threatenings  to  me  ?  With  the 
spirit  of  my  father  I  will  front  them  and  conquer  them.  Let  us  f ear 
nothing  ;  only  being  the  slaves  of  sin  and  madness  :  these  are  the 
only  real  slaves. 

"Jane  is  out,  or  she  would  have  sent  you  her  blessing,  her  affection. 
She  is  distinctly  growing  better,  and  I  hope  will  have  recovered 
her  usual  strength  ere  long.  Perhaps  she,  too,  needed  affliction,  as 
which  of  us  does  not  ?  Remember  us  always,  as  we  do  you.  God 
ever  bless  you  all ! 

"  I  remain,  dear  mother,  your  affectionate  son,     T.  CARLYLE." 

To  John  Carlyle,  Rome. 

"4  Arapton  Street:  February  16, 1832. 

"...  I  wrote  copiously  twice  to  our  mother.  A  letter  has 
since  come  full  of  composure  and  peace.  The  survivors,  our  mother 
in  particular,  are  all  well,  and  knit  the  closer  for  this  breach  among 
them.  Jamie,1  it  seems,  as  I  had  partly  advised  him,  makes  worship 
regularly  in  the  household  ;  Alick  has  promised  to  do  the  like  in  his. 
John  of  Cockermouth"  parted  from  them  at  Burnfoot,  exhorting 
them  with  affectionate  tears  in  his  eyes  to  live  all  united,  as  they 
had  heretofore  done,  and  mindful  and  worthy  of  the  true  man  whose 
name  they  bore.  Thus  has  the  scene  in  mild  solemnity  closed. 
When  the  news  first  reached  me,  I  sat  silent  some  minutes,  the  word 
'  rsXof  !'  pealing  mournfully  through  my  heart  till  tears  and  sobs 
gave  me  relief.  Death  has  long  been  hourly  present  with  me ;  I 
have  long  learned  to  look  upon  it  as  properly  the  beginning  of  life  ; 
its  dark  curtain  grows  more  and  more  transparent;  the  departed,  I 
think,  are  only  hidden — they  are  still  here.  Both  they  and  we,  as  I 
often  repeat,  'are  with  God.'  I  wrote  down  in  my  note-book  all 
that  I  could  remember  as  remarkable  about  my  father;  his  life  grew 
wonderfully  clear  to  me,  almost  like  the  first  stage  of  my  own.  I 
had  great  peace  and  satisfaction  in  thinking  of  him.  Let  us  in  our 
wider  sphere  live  worthy  of  a  father  so  true  and  so  brave  ;  hope  too 
that  in  some  inscrutable  way  an  eternal  reunion  is  appointed  us,  for 
with  God  nothing  is  impossible  ;  at  all  events,  '  that  He  will  do  all 
things  well. '  Therein  lies  the  anchorage  that  cannot  prove  deceitful. 

"Your  last  letter  seemed  to  me  the  best  I  had  ever  got  from  you 
— perhaps  among  the  best  I  have  ever  got  from  any  one.  There  is 
so  much  heartiness  and  earnestness ;  the  image  of  a  mind  honestly, 
deeply  laboring,  in  a  healthy  and  genuine  position  towards  nature 

i  The  youngest  brother. 

8  The  half-brother.     Only  son  of  Mr.  James  Carlyle's  first  marriage. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  151 

and  men.  Continue  in  that  right  mood;  strive  unweariedly,  and  all 
that  is  yet  wanting  will  be  given  you.  Go  on  and  prosper.  Klar- 
heit,  Beinheit,  '  Im  Ganzeti,  Guten,  Wahren  rewlut  zu  leben.'  This  is 
all  that  man  wants  on  earth;  even  as  of  old,  '  the  one  thing^  needful.' 
Well  do  I  understand,  my  dear  brother,  those  thoughts  of  yours  on 
the  Pincian  Hill.1  They  tore  my  inward  man  in  pieces  for  long 
years,  and  literally  well-nigh  put  an  end  to  my  life,  till,  by  Heaven's 
great  grace,  I  got  the  victory  over  them — nay,  changed  them  into 
precious  everlasting  possessions.  I  wish  you  could  have  read  my 
book 2  at  this  time,  for  it  turns  precisely  (in  its  way)  on  these  very 
matters;  in  the  paper  'Characteristics'  also,  some  of  my  latest  ex- 
periences and  insights  are  recorded ;  these  I  still  hope  you  will  soon 
see.  Meanwhile  be  not  for  a  moment  discouraged;  for  the  victory 
is  certain  if  you  desire  it  honestly;  neither  imagine  that  it  is  by  for- 
getting such  high  questions  that  you  are  to  have  them  answered. 
Unless  one  is  an  animal  they  cannot  be  forgotten.  This  also,  how- 
ever, is  true,  that  logic  will  never  resolve  such  things ;  the  instinct  of 
logic  is  to  say  No.  Remember  always  that  the  deepest  truth,  the 
truest  of  all,  is  actually  'unspeakable,'  cannot  be  argued  of,  dwells 
far  below  the  region  of  articulate  demonstration;  it  must  be  felt  by 
trial  and  indubitable  direct  experience;  then  it  is  known  once  and 
forever.  I  wish  I  could  have  speech  of  you  from  time  to  time; 
perhaps  I  might  disentangle  some  things  for  you.  Yet,  after  all,  the 
victory  must  be  gained  by  one's  self.  '  Dir  auch  gelingt  es  Dich  durch- 
zuarbeiten.'  I  will  here  only  mention  a  practical  maxim  or  two 
which  I  have  found  of  chief  advantage.  First,  I  would  have  you 
know  this:  that  'doubt  of  any  sort  can  only  be  removed  by  action.' 
But  what  to  act  on?  you  cry.  I  answer  again  in  the  words  of  Goe- 
the, '  Do  the  duty  which  lies  nearest;'  do  it  (not  merely  pretend  to 
have  done  it);  the  next  duty  will  already  have  become  clear  to  thee. 
There  is  great  truth  here ;  in  fact,  it  is  my  opinion  that  he  who  (by 
whatever  means)  has  ever  seen  into  the  infinite  nature  of  duty  has 
seen  all  that  costs  difficulty.  The  universe  has  then  become  a  tem- 
ple for  him,  and  the  divinity  and  all  the  divine  things  thereof  will 
infallibly  become  revealed.  To  the  same  purport  is  this  saying,  die 
fiohe  Bedeutung  dcs  Entsagens,  once  understand  entsagen,  then  life 
eigentlich  beginnt.  You  may  also  meditate  on  these  words,  '  the  di- 
vine depth  of  sorrow,'  '  the  sanctuary  of  sorrow.'  To  me  they  have 
been  full  of  significance.  But,  on  the  whole,  dear  brother,  study  to 
clear  your  heart  from  all  selfish  desire,  that  free  will  may  arise  and 
reign  absolute  in  you.  True  vision  lies  in  thy  heart;  it  is  by  this 
that  the  eye  sees,  or  forever  only  fancies  that  it  sees.  Do  the  duty 
that  lies  there  clear  at  hand.  I  must  not  spend  your  whole  sheet  in 
preaching,  and  will  add  only  this  other  precept,  which  I  find  more 
important  every  day  I  live.  Avoid  all  idle,  untrue  talk,  as  you 
would  the  pestilence.  It  is  the  curse  and  all-deforming,  all-choking 
leprosy  of  these  days.  For  health  of  mind  I  have  the  clearest  belief 
that  there  is  no  help  except  in  this  which  I  have  been  inculcating  in 
you :  action — religious  action.  If  the  mind  is  cultivated,  and  cannot 

i  Relating  to  religious  difficulties,  of  the  usual  kind. 
*  "Sartor  ttesartus." 


152  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

take  in  religion  by  the  old  vehicle,  a  new  one  must  be  striven  after. 
In  this  point  of  view,  German  literature  is  quite  priceless.  I  never 
cease  to  thank  Heaven  for  such  men  as  Richter,  Schiller,  Goethe. 
The  latter  especially  was  my  evangelist.  His  works,  if  you  study 
them  with  due  earnestness,  are  as  the  day-spring  visiting  us  in  the 
dark  night.  Perhaps  Lady  Clare  may  profit  much  by  them — only 
keep  away  dilettantism;  sweep  it  out  of  being;  this  is  no  world  for 
it;  this  is  no  revelation  of  a  world  for  it.  Among  Goethe's  admirers 
here  I  find  no  one  possessed  of  almost  the  smallest  feeling  of  what 
lies  in  him.  They  have  eyes,  but  see  not ;  hearts,  but  understand  not ; 
as  indeed  the  whole  world  almost  has.  Let  them  go  their  way;  do 
thou  go  thine." 


CHAPTER  XII. 
A.D.  1832.    JET.  37. 

A  FEW  weeks  only  now  remained  of  Carlyle's  stay  in  London. 
The  great  change  at  Scotsbrig  recommended,  and  perhaps  required, 
his  presence  in  Scotland.  His  brother  Alick  had  finally  left  Craig- 
enputtock  to  settle  on  a  farm  elsewhere,  and  the  house  on  the  moor 
could  not  be  left  unprotected.  In  London  itself  he  had  nothing 
further  to  detain  him.  He  had  failed  in  the  object  which  had  chiefly 
brought  him  there.  "Sartor  Resartus  "  had  to  lie  unpublished  in 
his  desk.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  made  new  and  valuable  ac- 
quaintances— John  Mill,  Leigh  Hunt,  Hay  ward,  Lytton  Bulwer — for 
the  first  three  of  whom  at  least  he  entertained  considerable  respect. 
He  had  been  courted  more  than  ever  by  magazines.  Owing  to  the 
effect  of  his  personal  presence,  he  had  as  much  work  before  him  as 
he  was  able  to  undertake,  and  by  Hayward's  help  Dr.  Lardner  was 
likely  to  accept  on  favorable  terms  his  "  Literary  History."  He  had 
learned,  once  for  all,  that  of  promotion  to  any  fixed  employment  there 
was  no  hope  for  him.  Literature  was,  and  was  to  be,  the  task  of  his 
life.  But  the  doubt  of  being  able  to  maintain  himself  honorably  by 
it  was  apparently  removed.  His  thrifty  farm-house  habits  made 
the  smallest  certain  income  sufficient  for  his  wants.  His  wife  had 
parted  cheerfully  with  the  luxuries  in  which  she  had  been  bred,  and 
was  the  most  perfect  of  economical  stewardesses.  His  brother  John 
was  now  in  circumstances  to  repay  the  cost  of  his  education,  and 
thus  for  two  years  at  least  he  saw  his  way  clearly  before  him.  Some 
editorship  or  share  of  editorship  might  have  been  attainable  had  he 
cared  to  seek  such  a  thing;  but  the  conditions  of  the  London  literary 
profession  disinclined  him  to  any  close  connection  with  it ;  and  he 
had  adjusted  his  relations  with  Napier,  Fraser,  Lytton  Bulwer,  and 
the  rest,  on  terms  more  satisfactory  to  himself  than  complimentary 
to  them.  With  Napier  he  was  on  a  really  pleasant  footing.  The 
' '  Characteristics  "  had  been  published  without  a  word  being  altered 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  153 

or  omitted.  He  liked  Napier,  and  excepted  him  from  his  general 
censures.  He  was  now  writing  his  review  of  Croker's  ' '  Life  of 
Johnson,"  which  he  had  promised  Fraser  as  the  last  piece  of  work 
which  he  was  to  do  in  London.  ' '  This  is  the  way  that  I  have  ad- 
justed myself,"  he  wrote.  "I  say  will  you  or  your  dog's  carrion 
cart  take  this  article  of  mine  and  sell  it  unchanged?  With  the  car- 
rion cart  itself  I  have,  and  can  have,  no  personal  concern."  "  For 
Fraser  I  am  partly  bound  as  to  this  piece  on  Johnson.  Bulwer,  if 
he  want  anything  on  similar  terms,  and  I  feel  unoccupied,  shall  have 
it;  otherwise  not  he."  In  such  scornful  humor  he  prepared  to  re- 
treat once  more  for  another  two  years  to  his  whinstone  castle,  and 
turn  his  back  on  London  and  the  literary  world. 

' '  My  attitude  towards  literary  London  [he  said,  in  a  letter  to  John, 
February  18]  is  almost  exactly  what  I  could  wish;  great  respect, 
even  love,  from  some  few ;  much  matter  of  thought  given  me  for 
instruction  and  high  edification  by  the  very  baseness  and  ignorance 
of  the  many.  I  dined  at  Magazine  Fraser's  some  five  weeks  ago ; 
saw  Lockhart,  Gait,  Cunningham,  Hogg.  Gait  has  since  sent  me  a 
book  (new,  and  worth  little);  he  is  a  broad  gawsie  Greenock  man, 
old-growing,  lovable  with  pity;  Lockhart  a  dandiacal,  not  without 
force,  but  barren  and  unfruitful;  Hogg,  utterly  a  singing  goose, 
whom  also  I  pitied  and  loved.  The  conversation  was  about  the 
basest  I  ever  assisted  in.  The  Scotch  here  afterwards  got  up  a 
brutish  thing  by  way  of  a  'Burns  dinner,' which  has  since  been 
called  the  '  Hogg  dinner,'  to  the  number  of  500;  famished  gluttony, 
quackery,  and  stupidity  were  the  elements  of  the  work,  which  has 
been  laughed  at  much.  Enough  of  literary  life.  The  Montagus 
live  far  from  us ;  both  Jane  and  the  noble  lady  seem  to  have  seen 
each  other,  and  found  that  an  interview  once  in  the  six  weeks  was 
enough.  I  have  been  there  some  thrice  since  you  went.  Procter 
regards  me  as  a  proud  mystic ;  I  him  (mostly)  as  a  worn-out  dud ; 
so  we  walk  on  separate  roads.  The  other  Montagus  are  mostly 
mere  simulacra,  and  not  edifying  ones.  Peace  be  to  all  such.  Of 
male  favorites,  Mill  stands  at  the  top.  Jeffrey,  from  his  levity,  a 
good  deal  lower;  yet  he  is  ever  kind  and  pleasant.  I  saw  Irving 
yesternight.  He  is  still  good-natured  and  patient,  but  enveloped  in 
the  vain  sound  of  the  '  Tongues. '  I  am  glad  to  think  he  will  not  go 
utterly  mad  (not  madder  than  a  Don  Quixote  was),  but  his  intellect 
seems  quietly  settling  into  a  superstitious  caput  mortuum.  He 
has  no  longer  any  opinion  to  deliver  worth  listening  to  on  any  secu- 
lar matter.  The  Chancellor  can  eject  him.  It  is  provided  by  the 
original  deed  of  his  chapel  that  the  worship  there  shall  be  that  of 
the  Established  Church  of  Scotland.  His  managers,  I  know,  have  al- 
ready consulted  Sugden.  Whether  and  how  soon  they  may  drive 
the  matter  to  extremities  is  not  to  be  guessed.  I  pity  poor  Irving, 
and  cannot  prophesy  of  him.  His  Morning  Watch,  which  he  gave 
me  yesternight,  is  simply  the  howling  of  a  Bedlamite." 

II.— 7* 


154  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

To  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"  4  Ampton  Street :  February  19. 
******* 

"  We  are  coming  home  as  early  as  possible  in  the  month  of  March. 
We  are  busy,  very  busy,  and  in  our  usual  health ;  Jane,  though  still 
complaining,  rather  better  than  she  has  long  been.  I  do  not  think 
she  is  to  be  strong  again  till  she  has  got  into  her  home  and  native  air, 
which  of  course  will  quicken  our  motions  the  more. 

"  We  have  both  of  us  determined  to  take  better  care  of  our  health 
were  we  once  home  again ;  I  feel  it  to  be  a  real  point  of  duty,  were 
it  only  for  the  greater  quantityand  better  quality  of  work  which 
good  health  enables  us  to  do.  We  are  also  minded  to  try  if  we  can- 
not be  a  little  more  domesticated  among  the  moors  of  Puttock — to 
take  a  greater  interest  in  the  people  there  (who  are  all  immortal 
creatures,  however  poor  and  defaced),  and  to  feel  as  if  the  place  were 
a  home  for  us.  Such  as  it  is,  I  feel  it  a  great  blessing  that  we  have 
it  to  go  to.  For  the  whole  summer  and  onwards  to  winter,  I  already 
see  plenty  of  work  before  me:  how  we  turn  ourselves  afterwards 
need  not  yet  be  decided  on.  I -was  very  glad  to  learn  that  you  had 
promised  to  my  mother  to  keep  religion  in  your  house :  without  re- 
ligion constantly  present  in  the  heart,  I  see  not  how  a  man  can  live 
otherwise  than  unreasonably — than  desperately.  I  think  that  you 
do  really  in  heart  wish  to  be  a  good  man  '  as  the  one  thing  needful ;' 
also  that  you  will  more  and  more  'lay  aside  every  weight,'  and  be 
found  running  the  race  faithfully  for  the  true  and  only  prize  of  man- 
hood. This  is  my  hope  and  trust  of  you,  dear  brother;  God  turn  it 
for  both  of  us  more  and  more  into  fulfilment.  Believe  me  ever, 
"  Your  faithfully  affectionate  brother,  T.  CARLYLE." 

The  Carlyles  left  London  on  the  25th  of  March.  They  returned 
to  Scotland  by  Liverpool,  staying  a  few  days  with  Mr.  Welsh  in 
Maryland  Street,  and  then  going  on  as  they  had  come  by  the  Annan 
steamer.  Mrs.  Carlyle  suffered  frightfully  from  sea-sickness.  She 
endured  the  voyage  for  economy's  sake;  but  she  was  in  bad  health 
and  in  worse  spirits.  The  Craigenputtock  exile,  dreary  and  dis- 
heartening, was  again  to  be  taken  up;  the  prospect  of  release  once 
more  clouded  over.  Her  life  was  the  dreariest  of  slaveries  to  house- 
hold cares  and  toil.  She  was  without  society,  except  on  an  occa- 
sional visit  from  a  sister-in-law  or  a  rare  week  or  so  with  her  moth- 
er at  Templand.  Carlyle,  intensely  occupied  with  his  thoughts  and 
his  writing,  was  unable  to  bear  the  presence  of  a  second  person 
when  busy  at  his  desk.  He  sat  alone,  walked  alone,  generally  rode 
alone.  It  was  necessary  for  him,  some  time  or  other  in  the  day,  to 
discharge  in  talk  the  volume  of  thought  which  oppressed  him.  But 
it  was  in  vehement  soliloquy,  to  which  his  wife  listened  with  admi- 
ration perhaps,  but  admiration  dulled  by  the  constant  repetition  of 
the  dose,  and  without  relief  or  comfort  from  it.  The  evenings  in 
London,  with  the  brilliant  little  circle  which  had  gathered  about 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  155 

them,  served  only  to  intensify  the  gloom  of  the  desolate  moor,  which 
her  nerves,  already  shattered  with  illness,  were  in  no  condition  to 
encounter.  Carlyle  observed  these  symptoms  less  than  he  ought  to 
have  done.  His  own  health,  fiercely  as  at  times  he  complained  of 
it,  was  essentially  robust  He  was  doing  his  own  duty  with  his  ut- 
most energy.  His  wife  considered  it  to  be  part  of  hers  to  conceal 
from  him  how  hard  her  own  share  of  the  burden  had  become.  Her 
high  principles  enabled  her  to  go  through  with  it;  but  the  dreams 
of  intellectual  companionship  with  a  man  of  genius  in  which  she 
had  entered  on  her  marriage  had  long  disappeared ;  and  she  settled 
down  into  her  place  again  with  a  heavy  heart.  Her  courage  never 
gave  way;  but  she  had  a  bad  time  of  it.  They  stayed  a  fortnight  at 
Scotsbrig,  where  they  heard  the  news  of  Goethe's  death.  At  the 
middle  of  April  they  were  on  the  moor  once  more,  and  Carlyle  was 
again  at  his  work.  The  "  Characteristics"  and  the  article  on  John- 
son had  been  received  with  the  warmest  admiration  from  the  in- 
creasing circle  of  young  intellectual  men  who  were  looking  up  to 
him  as  their  teacher,  and  with  wonder  and  applause  from  the  read- 
ing London  world.  He  sat  down  with  fresh  heart  to  new  efforts. 
"  The  Death  of  Goethe  "  was  written,  immediately  on  his  return,  for 
Lytton  Bulwer.  Das  MdJirchen,  "  THE  Tale, "  so  called  in  Germany, 
as  if  there  were  no  other  fit  to  be  compared  with  it,  was  translated 
for  Fraser,  with  its  singular  explanatory  notes.  *  His  great  conclud- 
ing article  on  Goethe  himself,  on  Goethe's  position  and  meaning  in 
European  history,  had  to  be  written  next  for  the  Foreign  Quarterly  ; 
another  for  the  Edinburgh  on  Ebenezer  Elliot,  the  Corn-law  Rhymer; 
and,  lastly,  the  essay  on  Diderot,  for  which  he  had  been  collecting 
materials  in  London.  He  had  added  to  his  correspondents  the  new 
friend  John  Mill,  between  whom  and  himself  there  had  sprung  up 
an  ardent  attachment. 

His  letters  to  Mill  are  not  preserved,  but  Mill's  to  him  remain. 
Between  Jeffrey  and  Mrs.  Carlyle  also  the  communication  began 
again,  Mrs.  Carlyle  apparently  telling  her  cousin  more  of  her  inner 
state  of  feeling  than  she  pleased  to  show  to  any  one  else.  Jeffrey 
had  been  an  almost  daily  visitor  in  Ampton  Street:  he  saw  and  felt 
for  her  situation ;  he  regarded  himself  as,  in  a  sense,  her  guardian, 
and  he  insisted  that  she  should  keep  him  regularly  informed  of  her 
condition.  In  London  he  had  observed  that  she  was  extremely 
delicate;  that  the  prospect  of  a  return  to  Craigenputtock  was  in- 
tolerable to  her.  Carlyle's  views  and  Carlyle's  actions  provoked 
him  more  and  more.  He  thought  him  as  visionary  as  the  Astrono- 
mer in  "Rasselas,"  and  confessed  that  he  was  irritated  at  seeing 
him  throwing  away  his  talent  and  his  prospects. 

»  Carlyle  told  mo  that  he  had  asked  Goethe  whether  he  was  right  in  his  interpreta- 
tion of  this  story,  but  that  he  could  never  get  an  answer  from  him  about  it 


156  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Carlyle,  after  his  reception  in  London  circles,  was  less  than  ever 
inclined  to  listen  to  Jeffrey's  protests.  If  in  the  midst  of  his  specu- 
lations he  could  have  spared  a  moment  to  study  his  wife's  condi- 
tion, the  state  of  things  at  Craigenputtock  might  have  been  less 
satisfactory  to  him.  He  was  extremely  fond  of  her:  more  fond, 
perhaps,  of  her  than  of  any  other  living  person  except  his  mother. 
But  it  was  his  peculiarity  that,  if  matters  were  well  with  himself,  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  they  could  be  going  ill  with  any  one  else; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  was  uncomfortable,  he  required  every- 
body to  be  uncomfortable  along  with  him.  After  a  week  of  rest- 
lessness, he  was  at  his  work  in  vigorous  spirits — especially  happy 
because  he  found  that  he  could  supply  Larry's  place,  and  again 
afford  to  keep  a  horse. 

Carlyle  now  takes  up  his  own  story. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Craigenputtock:  May  2, 1832. 

"My  dear  Mother, — We  are  getting  along  quite  handsomely  here, 
though  in  the  midst  of  chaos  and  confusion  worse  confounded: 
Jemmy  Aitkin  and  his  man  and  innumerable  oilpots  being  in  full 
operation.  They  are  painting  the  dining-room,  lobby,  and  stair- 
case; and,  to  avoid  such  a  slaister  for  the  future,  doing  it  in  oil. 
We  live  in  the  drawing-room  meanwhile,  and  I,  for  my  part,  study 
to  'jook  and  let  the  jaw  go  by,'  minding  my  own  business  as 
much  as  possible,  and  what  is  not  my  own  business  as  little  as 
possible. 

"Betty  Smeal1  and  Mary,  of  whose  safe  arrival  we  were  somewhat 
relieved  to  hear,  would  tell  you  more  minutely  than  my  little  note 
how  all  stood  with  us  a  fortnight  ago.  Jane  had  sent  off  to  Templand 
for  a  maid,  but  began  to  regret  she  had  not  endeavored  to  bargain 
with  the  other,  who,  awkward  as  she  was,  seemed  faithful  and  punct- 
ual. However,  on  the  Monday  a  new  figure  made  her  appearance; 
one  'Nancy,'  from  Thornhill,  a  most  assiduous,  blithe,  fond  little 
stump  of  a  body,  who  will  do  excellently  well.  The  cow,  too,  is  mend- 
ing. Jane  is  far  heartier  now  that  she  has  got  to  work:  to  bake;" 
and,  mark  this,  to  preserve  eggs  in  lime-water;  so  that,  as  I  said,  the 
household  stands  on  a  quite  tolerable  footing. 

"For  a  week  I  felt  exceedingly  out  of  my  element;  inclined  to  be 
wretched  and  sulky :  no  work  would  prosper  with  me :  I  had  to  burn 
as  fast  as  I  wrote.  However,  by  degrees  I  got  hefted  again,  and  took 
obediently  to  the  gang  and  the  gear.  I  have  got  one  piece  of  work 
done  and  sent  off  to  London;  the  other  I  have  now  fairly  on  the 
anvil,  hot  before  me,  and  will  soon  hammer  it  out.  One  that  is  still 
in  the  middle  ought  not,  as  you  know,  to  crow  day.  However,  I 
think  I  can  calculate  on  being  pretty  well  through  before  this  week 
end;  so  that  Jane  may  tell  Ahck  that  I  shall  be  ready  for  a  horse  any 

'  A  Scotsbrig  maid,  who  had  been  in  charge  of  Craigenputtock  in  the  winter. 
*  A  mistake  on  Carlyle's  part.     Mrs.  Carlyle  had  not  strength  for  household  work. 
She  did  it ;  but  it  permanently  broke  down  her  health. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  157 

time  after  Wednesday  next  h^  likes.  I  have  seen  or  heard  nothing, 
since  his  letter,  of  the  Dumfries  beast,  and  will  wait  now  till  I  be 
there  at  any  rate,  if  we  are  not  provided  otherwise  in  the  mean- 
time. 

"This  I  believe,  dear  mother,  is  the  main  purpose  of  my  letter — 
that  I  am  to  see  you  again  so  soon.  We  will  then  go  through  every- 
thing by  the  more  convenient  method. 

"I  have  rooted  out  a  thousand  docks  with  my  dock  spade,  which 
I  find  to  be  an  invaluable  tool. 

"Let  me  pray  that  I  may  find  you  as  well  as  Jane  described, 
mending  the  Rackburn  road?  I  add  no  more  but  the  message  of 
my  wife's  true  love  to  one  and  all  of  you.  My  own  heart's  wishes 
are  with  you  always. 

"  I  remain,  my  dear  mother, 

"Ever  your  affectionate,  T.  CAHLTLE. 

"Jane  wishes  Jemmy  to  be  on  the  outlook  for  a  pig  for  her;  she 
would  not  like  to  go  beyond  ten  shillings,  only  wishes  a  good  one 
could  be  had  so,  and  come  \ip  with  Alick's  cart.  I  know  not 
whether  the  scheme  is  feasible. — T.  C." 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"May  22. 

"We  are  contented  with  the  appearance  of  your  domestic  posi- 
tion, and  would  fain  see  further  into  it.  Your  noble  patient  seems 
to  suffer  more  than  we  anticipated.  A  certain  real  pity  for  her  for- 
lorn fortune,  so  gorgeous  outwardly,  within  so  desolate,  comes  over 
me ;  one  could  fancy  it  no  despicable  task  to  struggle  towards  recti- 
fying a  life  wherein  are  such  capabilities  of  good.  But,  alas!  how 
little  can  be  done!  Therein,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  must  the 
patient  minister  to  herself.  He  whom  experience  has  not  taught 
innumerable  hard  lessons,  will  be  wretched  at  the  bottom  of  Nature's 
cornucopia;  and  some  are  so  dull  at  taking  up  !  On  the  whole,  the 
higher  classes  of  modern  Europe,  especially  of  actual  England,  are 
true  objects  of  compassion.  Be  thou  compassionate,  patiently  faith- 
ful, leave  no  means  untried;  work  for  thy  wages,  and  it  will  be  well 
with  thee.  Those  Herzenseryiemmyen  eines  Einsamen,  which  the 
late  letters  abound  in,  are  not  singular  to  me.  The  spirit  that  dwells 
in  them  is  such  as  I  can  heartily  approve  of.  It  is  an  earnest  mind 
seeking  some  place  of  rest  for  itself,  struggling  to  get  its  foot  off  the 
quicksand  and  fixed  on  the  rock.  The  only  thing  I  regret  or  fear  is 
that  there  should  be  so  much  occupation  of  the  mind  upon  itself. 
Turn  outward.  Attempt  not  the  impossibility  to  'know  thyself,' 
but  solely  '  to  know  what  thou  canst  work  at. '  This  last  is  a  possi- 
ble knowledge  for  every  creature,  and  the  only  profitable  one;  neither 
is  there  any  way  of  attaining  it  except  trial,  the  attempt  to  icork. 
Attempt  honestly;  the  result,  even  if  unsuccessful,  will  be  infinitely 
instructive.  I  can  see,  too,  you  have  a  great  want  in  your  present 
otherwise  so  prosperous  condition  :  you  have  not  anything  like 
enough  to  do.  I  dare  say  many  a  poor  riding  apothecary,  with  five 
times  your  labor  and  the  fifth  part  of  your  income,  is  happier. 
Nevertheless,  stand  to  it  tightly;  every  time  brings  its  duty.  Think 


158  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

of  this,  as  you  are  wont,  but  think  of  it  -with  a  practical  intent.  All 
speculation  is  beginningless  and  endless.  Do  not  let  yourself  into 
Grubeln,  even  in  your  present  state  of  partial  inaction.  I  well,  in- 
finitely too  well,  know  what  Grubeln  is :  a  wretched  sink  of  darkness, 
pain,  a  paralytic  fascination.  Cover  it  up ;  that  is  to  say,  neglect  it 
for  some  outward  piece  of  action;  go  resolutely  forward,  you  will 
not  heed  the  precipices  that  gape  on  the  right  hand  of  you  and  on 
the  left.  Finally,  dear  brother, '  be  alive!'  as  my  Shewsbury  coach- 
man told  a  Methodist  parson ;  be  alive  !  all  is  included  in  that.  And 
so,  God  keep  you  and  me  !  and  make  us  all  happy  and  honorable  to 
one  another,  and  '  not  ashamed  to  live '  (as  a  voice  we  have  often 
heard  was  wont  to  pray),  '  nor  afraid  to  die.'  Amen. 

"I  was  at  Scotsbrig  last  week,  and  found  them  all  struggling 
along,  much  as  of  old.  Our  dear  mother  holds  out  well ;  is  in  fair 
health,  not  more  dispirited  than  almost  any  one  would  be  under  her 
bereavement,  and  peaceful,  with  a  high  trust  in  the  great  Guide  of 
all.  We  expect  her  here  in  about  a  week,  with  Alick,  who  is  bring- 
ing up  the  cart  with  some  sort  of  a  horse  he  was  to  buy  for  me. 
We  settled  everything  at  Scotsbrig;  the  departed  had  left  it  all  ready 
for  settlement.  Your  name  or  mine  (as  I  had  myself  requested) '  is 
not  mentioned  in  the  will:  it  was  all  between  my  mother  and  the 
other  five.  Each  had  to  claim  some  perhaps  120?. — each  of  the  five. 
Our  mother  has  the  houses  with  some  2SI.  yearly  during  life. 

' '  Of  ourselves  here  there  is  not  much  new  to  be  said.  Jane  seemed 
to  grow  very  greatly  better  when  she  set  foot  on  her  native  heath ;  is 
now  not  so  well  again,  but  better  than  in  London.  I  hare  written 
two  things — a  short  Funeral  Oration  on  Goethe :  it  is  for  Bulwer's 
magazine  of  June  (the  New  Monthly),  and  pleases  the  lady  much 
better  than  me;  then  a  paper  on  certain  Corn-law  Rhymes  for  Na- 
pier, of  some  twenty-five  pages.  I  am  now  beginning  a  far  more 
extensive  essay  on  Goethe,  for  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review.  I  am 
apt  to  be  rather  stupid,  but  do  the  best  I  can.  Venerable,  dear 
Goethe !  but  we  will  not  speak  a  word  here.  Our  pastoral  establish- 
ment is  much  like  what  it  was ;  duller  a  little  since  Alick  went,  but 
also  quieter.  Our  new  neighbors  have  nothing  to  do  with  us  except 
little  kind  offices  of  business.  Articulate  speech  I  hear  little,  my 
sole  comfort  and  remedy  is  work.  Work  !  rather  an  unnatural 
state,  but  not  to  be  altered  for  the  present.  With  many-  blessings, 
too:  a  kind,  true-hearted  wife,  with  whom  a  true  man  may  share  any 
fortune,  fresh  air,  food,  and  raiment  fit  for  one.  The  place  is  even 
a  beautiful  place  in  its  kind,  and  may  serve  for  a  workshop  as  well 
as  another.  Let  us  work,  then,  and  be  thankful. 

"  The  Whig  Ministry  is  all  out  and  gone  to  the  devil:  Reform  Bill 
and  all.  Newspapers  will  tell  you  enough.  For  us  here  it  is  little 
more  than  a  matter  of  amusement :  '  Whoiver's  King,  I'se  be  soob- 
ject.'  The  country  is  all  in  a  shriek,  but  will  soon  compose  itself 
when  it  finds  that  things  are — just  where  they  were.  Incapable 

1  Carlyle  explains  in  his  Journal.  He  had  represented  to  his  father  that  he  and  his 
brother  John  had  received  their  share  of  his  fortune  in  their  education,  and  that  the 
rest  ought  to  be  divided  among  those  who,  by  working  on  the  farm,  had  assisted  in 
earning  it. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  159 

dilettantes  and  capable  knaves — which  is  worse  ?    Excuse  my  dul- 
ness,  dear  John.    Love  me  always,  and  may  God  bless  you. 

"T.  CARLYLE." 
P.  S.  by  Mrs.  Carlyle: 

"My  husband  says,  'I  have  written  the  dullest  letter;  do  take  the 
pen  and  underline  it  with  something  lively  !'  But,  alas !  dear  brother, 
I  have  dined — on  a  peppery  pie  !  and  judge  whether  what  he  requires 
be  possible :  consok-toi.  I  will  write  you  a  long  letter  some  day,  and 
all  out  of  my  own  head,  as  the  children  say.  In  the  meantime,  be- 
lieve that  my  affections  and  heartiest  good  wishes  are  with  you  now 
and  aiways.  Your  sister,  JAKE  W.  C." 

Pleasant  letters  came  from  London.  John  Mill,  young,  ingenu- 
ous, and  susceptible,  had  been  profoundly  impressed  by  Carlyle.  He 
had  an  instinct  for  recognizing  truth  in  any  form  in  which  it  might 
be  presented  to  him.  Charles  Buller  had  foretold  that,  although 
Mill's  and  Carlyle's  methods  of  thought  were  as  wide  asunder  as  the 
poles,  they  would  understand  and  appreciate  each  other.  They 
sympathized  in  a  common  indignation  at  the  existing  condition  of 
society,  in  a  common  contempt  for  the  insincere  professions  with 
which  men  were  veiling  from  themselves  and  from  one  another 
their  emptiness  of  spiritual  belief;  and  neither  Mill  nor  Carlyle  as 
yet  realized  how  far  apart  their  respective  principles  would  eventu- 
ally draw  them.  The  review  of  Boswell's  "  Life  of  Johnson  "  had 
delighted  Mill.  He  had  read  it  so  often  that  he  could  almost  repeat 
it  from  end  to  end.  He  recognized  the  immense  superiority  of  in- 
tellectual honesty  to  intellectual  power.  He  recognized  the  shallow- 
ness  and  feebleness  of  modern  thought  in  the  midst  of  its  cant  of 
progress.  He  professed  himself  a  humble  disciple  of  Carlyle,  eager 
to  be  convinced  (which  as  yet  he  admitted  that  he  was  not)  of  the 
greatness  of  Goethe ;  eager  to  admit  with  innocent  modesty  Carlyle's 
own  superiority  to  himself. 

The  letters  from  Mill  were  agreeable  interludes  in  the  life  at 
Craigenputtock,  pictures  of  which  Carlyle  continued  regularly  to 
send  to  his  brother,  while  he  recorded  in  his  Diary  the  workings  of 
his  own  mind. 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"  Craigenputtork  :  July  31, 1832. 

"My  dear  Brother, — Goodwife  Macadam  brought  us  your  letter 
of  the  4th  from  church  with  her  on  Sunday  evening.  It  is  the  way 
the  three  last  have  happened  to  come,  so  we  shall  esteem  it  a  happy 
omen  when  our  neighbor  thinks  of  getting  a  sermon.  God  be 
thanked,  it  is  all  right.  You  are  well,  and  have  now  heard  that  we 
are  well.  Another  letter,  sent  off  through  the  Advocate  by  the  For- 
eign Office,  will  be  already  in  your  hands.  We  shall  henceforth 
eschew  William  Fraser  as  we  would  the  genius  of  impotence  itself, 
and  trust  mainly  to  the  Post,  which,  though  it  has  loitered,  has  never 


160  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

yet  absolutely  deceived  us.  I  lament  for  poor  Fraser— a  worthy, 
friendly  creature,  but  whose  utter  unpunctuality  in  a  world  built  on 
time  will  frustrate  every  endeavor  he  may  engage  in,  except  the  last 
— that  of  quitting  life — which  will  probably  be  transacted  in  right 
season.  I  am  angry,  too,  as  well  as  sorry ;  the  idle  losing  of  letters  is 
a  stretch  of  carelessness  to  which  even  the  peasants  of  Glenessland 
are  superior.  Intrust  any  of  them  with  a  letter,  he  knows  it  must 
be  attended  to.  Fraser,  to  all  appearance,  has  also  wasted  my  last 
letter  to  Goethe ;  at  least,  no  message  yet  reaches  me  from  Weimar, 
and  I  wrote  to  Eckermann  last  week  on  that  hypothesis.  Fie,  fie, 
the  foolish  Fraser !  And  now,  Doctor,  taking  to  ourselves  this  prac- 
tical lesson  to  be  for  our  share  in  all  things  doubly  and  trebly  punct- 
ual, we  will  leave  the  unfortunate  man.  All  is  right  at  last. 

"  Both  of  us  were  heartily  gratified  with  your  letter.  I  have  the 
cheering  sight  before  me  of  a  prophecy,  often  pronounced  and 
asserted,  realizing  itself.  Jack  is  to  be  a  man,  after  all.  Your  out- 
ward relations  seem  all  prosperous  and  well  managed.  Your  char- 
acter is  unfolding  itself  into  true  self-subsistence.  In  the  work 
appointed  you  to  do,  you  not  only  seem  to  work,  but  actually  work. 
For  the  rest,  let  us  be  patient  under  this  delay  and  separation.  Both 
were,  perhaps,  necessary;  in  any  case,  if  we  improve  them,  will  turn 
to  good  fruits.  I  quarrel  not  with  your  solitude,  nor  with  anything 

¥3U  do,  so  it  bring  yourself  contentment  and  the  feeling  of  profit, 
his  is  the  best  and  only  role  you  can  have.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
always  found  that  companionship  with  any  man  that  will  speak  out 
truly  his  experiences  and  persuasions  (so  he  have  such)  was  a  most 
precious  ingredient  in  the  history  of  one's  life;  a  thing  one  turns 
back  to, and  finds  evermore  new  meaning  in;  for,  indeed,  this  is  real, 
and  therefore  inexhaustible.  God  made  that  man  you  speak  with ; 
all  else  is  more  or  less  theoretical  and  incomplete.  Indeed,  in  every 
sense  one  is  but  an  unhealthy  fraction  while  alone ;  only  in  society 
with  his  equals  a  whole.  For  which  reason  it  gratifies  me  that  you 
make  acquaintance  with  Gell  and  old  Squares,  the  doctor.  I  could 
like  well  to  know  both  of  them.  Sir  W.  (ein  Bornirter,  den  man  muss 
gelten  lasseri)  will  make  an  excellent  cicerone;  can  tell  you  all  about 
Troy,  too,  and  who  knows  what  itineraries.  Quadri  will  satirically 
show  you  Italian  quackery,  and  how  an  ardent,  hot  temperament  de- 
means itself  therein.  I  must  also  esteem  it  no  small  felicity  you 
naturally  have :  that  of  associating  with  a  thoroughly  courteous  so- 
ciety-cultivated woman.  No  higher  piece  of  art  is  there  in  the  world. 
Schone  sief  Verehre  tie!  Your  whole  law  lies  there.  The  weak, 
lovely  one  will  be  loved,  honored,  and  protected.  Is  not,  in  truth,  a 
noble  woman  (noblewoman  or  not)  Gottes  lieUichster  Oedanke,  and 
worth  reverencing?  Be  diligent  with  your  journal.  Note  every- 
thing, let  it  seem  noteworthy  or  not.  Have  no  eye  towards  publica- 
tion, but  only  towards  self -enlightenment  and  pleasant  recollection. 
Publication,  if  it  seems  needful,  will  follow  of  its  own  accord. 
Goethe's  Italian  travels  are  a  fine  model.  Alles  rein  angeschaut,  wie 
es  ist,  und  seyn  muss.  I  often  figure  you  in  the  Toledo  Street  with 
lemonade -booths  and  macaroni  cookeries,  and  loud  -  singing,  loud- 
speaking  multitudes  on  the  loveliest  spot  of  earth's  surface.  I,  here 
on  the  Glaisters  hillside,  in  the  warm  dusk,  the  wilderness  all  vapory 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  161 

and  silent  except  a  curlew  or  two,  the  great  heaven  above  me,  around 
me  only  the  spirits  of  the  distant,  of  the  dead — all  has  a  preternatural 
character  unspeakably  earnest,  sad,  but  nowise  wretched.  You  may 
tell  me,  if  you  like,  what  German  books  your  lady  reads;  and  on  the 
whole  be  more  and  more  minute  in  picturing  out  to  me  the  current 
of  your  natural  day.  I  want  to  know  what  clothes  you  wear,  what 
sort  of  victual  you  subsist  on. 

"To  turn  now  the  Scottish  side  of  the  leaf.  I  have  finished 
'  Goethe's  Works, '  and  corrected  the  proof  of  it  since  I  wrote — a 
long,  desultory,  rhapsodic  concern  of  forty-four  pages  in  the  F.  Q. 
li'  ic.  These  are  no  days  for  speaking  of  Goethe.  I  next  went 
over  to  Catlinns '  and  Scotsbrig,  leaving  Jane  at  Templand  (who  rued 
much  that  she  had  volunteered  to  stay  behind  me).  The  Catlinns 
agriculture  was  all  green  and  prospering.  The  farmer,  with  wife 
and  child,  had  gone  over  to  Brand's  of  Craighorn,  whither  I  followed 
them;  and,  strange  enough,  was  shortly  after  joined  by  Jamie  and 
my  mother,  all  engaged  that  evening  to  have  tea  there!  Everything 
was  as  one  could  have  hoped :  crops  all  excellent,  good  health,  good 
agreement,  good  weather.  I  drove  our  mother  to  Annan  next  fore- 
noon in  the  clatch,  as  we  call  the  old  gig,  which  the  new  gray  mare 
briskly  draws  along :  went  and  bathed  there  at  the  '  back  of  the  hill, ' 
in  the  very  spot  where  I  was  near  drowned  six  and  twenty  years  ago, 
whither  I  will  not  return:  found  Ben  Nelson  (it  was  market  day); 
dined  with  him  and  talked  immeasurably  all  afternoon,  though  I  had 
much  rather  have  listened  if  he  had  liked. 

' '  I  was  at  Annan  another  bathing-day,  but  missed  Ben.  However, 
we  chanced  to  meet  on  Dodbeck  Heights  next  Wednesday  morning 
as  I  was  returning  home :  appointed  a  rendezvous  at  our  inn,  and 
then,  over  a  thimbleful  of  brandy-and-water,  talked  again  for  the 
space  of  two  stricken  hours.  Waugh  I  now  asked  for,  and  heard 
the  strangest  history.  Lying  among'the  pots,  forgotten  of  men,  he 
sees  his  aunt  Margaret  die  (poor  old  Peg !)  and  himself  thereby  put 
in  possession  of  50?.  as  inheritance.  Whereupon,  shaving  his  beard 
and  putting  on  change  of  raiment,  he  walks  down  to  Benson's,  and 
there  orders  fodder  and  stall  of  the  best ;  reigns  among  the  bagmen 
to  heart's  content ;  shifts  after  a  season  to  the  King's  Arms,  Dum- 
fries, and  there,  or  in  some  similar  establishment,  is  perhaps  even 
now  burning  his  fifty -pound  candle  to  the  socket,  and  going  out  in 
stench!  Saw  ever  mortal  the  like?  The  man,  Doctor,  is  once  for 
all  deprived  of  understanding — the  greatest  misfortune,  properly  the 
only  one,  that  can  befall  a  man.  He  hath  said  to  the  father  of  No 
Work  and  Darkness,  'Behold,  I  am  thine.'  Let  me  mention  here 
more  specially,  before  quitting  Annandale,  that  at  Scotsbrig  all  was 
busy  and  right;  hay  harvest  was  at  its  height  the  day  I  came  off, and 
prospering  well.  Our  mother  seemed  in  better  than  usual  health, 
was  delighted  with  her  two  bathes,  and  should  have  [had  another] 
but  the  clatch  failed  and  needed  repairs.  She  said  after,  '  I  kenna 
how  many  kind  things  I  wanted  to  bid  [thee  say  for]  me  to  John ; 
and  thou  was  ay  gane  first.'  I  said  you  understood  them  all,  and  I 
constantly  [wrote  with]  pains  about  Scotsbrig  and  her.  I  am  to 

1  Alexander  Carlyle's  new  fiirra. 


162  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

write  thither  this  night,  and  send  your  letter.  Alick,  also,  I  write 
to :  our  boy  is  going  to  exchange  horses  with  him  for  a  week  [when] 
we  get  the  rest  of  our  coals  carted.  Our  newspapers  go  between 
these  households,  and  sometimes  from  one  to  the  other;  there  is 
all  community  we  can  kept  up  :  frequent  messages,  constant  good 
wishes. 

"  Since  I  returned  I  have  been  employed  translating  a  little  piece 
named  'Novelle,'  from  the  fifteenth  volume  of  Goethe,  and  revising 
an  old  translation  of  '  THE  Mahrchen,'  with  intent  to  add  some  com- 
mentary; and  offer  both  papers  to  James  Fraser.  I  have  an  essay  to 
write  on  Diderot  (for  Cochrane),  and  all  his  twenty-one  octavos  lying 
here  to  read  first :  shall  do  it,  any  way,  invitd  Minerrd,  and  may  as 
well  begin  even  now.  I  have  upwards  of  a  hundred  pages  to  put 
out  of  me  before  winter.  Stand  to  it?  NuUa  dies  sine  lined.  As  to 
'  Dreck,'  he  lies  here  quite  calm,  bound  up  in  twine.  My  partial  pur- 
pose is  to  spend  another  50Z.  on  him,  and  have  him  printed  by-and- 
l>y  myself.  I  in  some  measure  see  through  the  matter,  not  yet 
wholly.  One  thing  I  imagine  to  be  clear  enough,  that  bookselling, 
slain  by  puffery,  is  dead,  and  will  not  come  alive  again,  though 
worms  may  for  some  time  live  in  the  carcass.  What  method  writers 
who  have  something  to  write  shall  next  take  is  now  the  question. 
In  a  generation  or  two  the  answer  (summed  up  from  the  procedure 
of  wise,  inventive  men)  will  be  forthcoming.  To  us,  any  way,  mar- 
tyrdom is  the  thing  appointed;  in  this  and  all  other  generations  only 
the  degree  of  it,  the  outward  figure  of  it,  vary.  Thank  God  we 
have  still  food  and  vesture,  and  can  atill  get  a  thing  spoken  out  and 
printed :  more  we  need  not  covet,  more  is  not  necessary.  I  have  a 
thing  to  send  Napier  on  all  this,  but  it  is  in  petto  yet.  Meanwhile, 
we  get  along  tolerably  enough;  all,  as  you  fancied,  is  tight,  tidy,  and 
peaceable  here — a  flourishing  garden,  with  blackbirds  devouring  the 
fruit,  even  apples  a  basket  or  two;  roses  innumerable;  a  park  wall- 
ed in  (this  was  poor  Alick's  last  act  here),  so  that  the  '  rowan-tree 
gate '  and  all  gates  but  the  outer  one  are  removed,  and  cow  and 
horses  graze  at  ease;  a  monstrous  peat-stack  against  grim  winter; 
money  in  one's  purse,  faith  in  one's  heart.  What  is  there  wanting? 
So  we  live  here,  a  wunderliches,  abgesondertes  Wesen.  Jane  drives 
down  to  Dumfries  to-morrow  with  the  boy,  and  takes  this  letter. 
She  is  far  enough  from  perfect  health  still,  yet  certainly  improving. 
She  greets  you  affectionately;  was  much  pleased  with  your  letter, 
especially  that  part  where  you  speak  so  sensibly  about  a  good  icife 
and  the  blessedness  she  brings.  I  have  some  thought  that  we  shall 
be  in  Edinburgh  this  winter,  printing  of  '  Dreck '  and  what  not.  I 
have  Mill,  and  Mrs.  Austin  Jane  has,  as  occasional  correspondents 
in  London.  Mill  and  Glen  are  acquainted,  though  it  is  mostly  on 
Mill's  side ;  Glen  is  so  fendble  a  character,  so  near  madness  more- 
over. Mill's  letters  are  too  speculative;  but  I  reckon  him  an  excel- 
lent person,  and  his  love  to  me  is  great.  He  tells  me  Glen  got  your 
Naples  letter,  was  much  contented  therewith,  and  well.  His  other 
news  are  the  decease,  or  at  least  paralysis,  of  Saint-Simonianism;  and 
London  politics,  for  which  I  care  less  every  day.  Buller  is  trying 
for  Liskeard  borough  with  hopes.  The  election  will  not  be  for 
several  months;  no  dissolution  all  winter.  George  Irving  was  at 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  163 

Annan  at  bis  father's  funeral  for  two  days.  Edward,  it  seems,  is 
summoned  to  answer  for  himself  before  the  Annan  Presbytery,  and 
will  come,  and  be  deposed.  The  time  is  near;  whether  I  shall  see 
him  uncertain.  He  is  preaching  in  the  fields  about  London ;  at  Hamp- 
stead  Heath,  his  precentor  in  a  tree  (last  account  I  saw).  There  was 
also  a  paragraph  about  building  him  a  new  church.  His  old  con- 
gregation have  offered  somebody  1000£.  a  year.  Whether  he  takes 
it,  not  said.  The  Dpws  are  both  out,  the  last  of  them  resigned.  It 
is  wholly  a  beastly  piece  of  ignorance  and  stupidity,  too  stupid  even 
for  the  gross  heads  of  England.  That  the  high,  the  holy,  can  find 
no  other  lodging  than  that  swinish  one  is  even  the  misery.  God 
mend  it,  and  us.  Of  Badams  no  news  since  we  left  him  in  Bartlett's 
Buildings;  gone  from  Enfield,  with  no  good  outlook,  moral  or  do- 
mestic. Poor  Badams,  wie  gem  rnocht'  ich  Dich  retten  !  Graham  is 
still  in  Glasgow,  no  tidings  could  I  get  of  him  farther.  Burnswark 
unsold.  So  goes  the  world  here,  dear  brother.  The  weather  is  hot, 
the  year  is  fertile  beyond  all  example.  The  simple  hope  from  the 
Reform  Bill.  Electioneering  flourishes,  in  which  I  take  no  interest. 
Cholera  is  at  Carlisle,  and  somewhat  worse  than  ever  in  London. 
None  of  us  are  in  the  least  alarmed  at  it.  Be  not  you,  either.  I 
paid  Alick  451.  8*.  of  your  money.  The  251.  Ss.  was  a  tailor's  ac- 
count; and  now  you  owe  him  nothing.  I  sent  Jeffrey  word  that 
you  had  remitted  the  43£.  10*.  (specifying  the  items)  to  pay  him,  and 
that  /,  not  you,  was  now  (till  I  could  get  the  Dumfries  banker  near) 
his  debtor.  He  answers,  gratified  by  your  punctuality,  and  I  will 
now  clear  him  off  the  first  time  I  am  at  Dumfries.  He  says  you 
have  justified  what  I  thought  unjustifiable.  Gott  sey  Dank  !  I  am 
in  no  need  of  money,  otherwise  I  would  freely  take  your  help,  and 
will  continue  as  ready  if  you  prove  worthy.  I  can  now  pay  the 
Advocate  my  own  debt  (had  I  once  got  my  accounts  in),  and  have  a 
501.  over.  Another  100?. ,  to  be  earned  as  fast  as  may  be,  will  clear 
Edinburgh  and  even  print  'Dreck.'  As  '  Dreck '  can  be  unprinted  till 
the  means  be  lent  me,  so  one  hand  will  wash  the  other,  and  we  shall 
do  very  well.  Jeffrey  is  perhaps  on  his  way  to  Edinburgh  to-day. 
He  is  a  candidate  for  the  Membership  there,  and  has  a  Radical  op- 
ponent and  a  Tory.  All  men  are  disappointed  in  him  a  little,  but 
remember  his  past  services. 

"  Jane  says  she  will  write  you  a  complete  letter  next  time.     This 
is  the  thing  she  says.     Let  us  see  whether  she  will  perform.     I  will 
not  fail  to  remind  her,  if  that  will  do.    And  now,  dear  brother,  adieu. 
"  Vakas  mei  memor, 

"T.  CARLTLE." 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"May  18. — About  beginning  an  essay  on  Goethe's  life.  All  still 
dark,  or  rather  all  void ;  yet  thin  films,  of  bulk  enough  had  they  be- 
come substances,  hover  here  and  there.  Have  been  well-nigh  idle 
again  for  a  fortnight.  Nothing  spurs  me  but  an  evil  conscience." 

"I  have  often  remarked  that  the  present  generation  has  lost  the 
faculty  of  giving  names.  The  modern  streets  of  towns  (London  for 
a  chief  example)  and  innumerable  other  things  are  proofs  of  this. 
They  are  reduced  to  name  streets  by  the  owner  of  the  land,  by  the 


164  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

builder,  or  in  some  other  mechanical  way,  almost  as  if  by  formula. 
Thus  in  Dumfries  they  have  made  their  old  Lochmaben  Gate  into 
English  Street,  they  have  their  Irish  Street,  and  so  forth.  In  Man- 
chester they  have  taken  the  ready-made  London  names,  have  their 
Piccadilly  and  the  like.  In  Liverpool  they  have  named  streets  by 
herbs  (Vine  Street,  etc.,  etc.),  by  poets  (Pope  Street),  and  by  other 
desperate  methods.  What  talent  is  specially  requisite  for  giving  a 
name  ?  A  certain  geniality  of  insight,  whereby  some  real  property 
of  the  thing  reveals  itself.  A  very  little  will  do,  but  some  little  is 
requisite;  then,  so  useful  are  names,  even  an  indifferent  one  sticks. 
We  cannot  now  give  so  much  as  a  nickname.  Giving  a  NAME,  in- 
deed, is  a  poetic  art;  all  poetry,  if  we  go  to  that  with  it,  is  but  a 
giving  of  names." 

"What  a  sad  want  I  am  in  of  libraries,  of  books  to  gather  facts 
from  !  Why  is  there  not  a  Majesty's  library  in  every  county  town? 
There  is  a  Majesty's  jail  and  gallows  in  every  one."  " 

"Wednesday,  May  23. — Came  news  that  Wellington  has  not  been 
able  to  get  on,  so  violent  was  the  spirit  of  the  country  and  Parlia- 
ment, so  had  given  up  the  concern,  and  '  our  friends '  were  once 
more  allx  in  their  places,  with  liberty  to  create  peers  or  do  what  they 
liked.  A  la  bonne  heure  !  Democracy  gets  along  with  accelerated 
pace — whither?  Old  borough-mongers  seemingly  quite  desperate; 
meetings,  resolutions,  black  flags  and  white  flags  (some  even  mount 
a  petticoat  in  reference  to  the  Queen),  threatenings,  solemn  covenants 
(to  oust  Toryism),  run  their  course  over  all  the  Isles.  I  purely  an 
onlooker,  in  any  other  capacity  there  being  no  need  of  me." 

"  Thus,  then,  after  eighteen  months  of  discussion  and  concussion 
(enough  to  shake  a  far  firmer  than  our  worm-eaten  constitution  to 
pieces),  is  this  grand  question  to  be  decided  in  the  affirmative?  Shall 
we  give  ourselves  a  chance  to  begin  to  try  whether  we  can  help  the 
maladies  of  England,  or  shall  we  not  give  ourselves  a  chance? 

"  Earl  Grey  and  his  squadron  have  moved  along  like  honest,  solid- 
lying — luggage.  Tumbled  back,  they  had  always  fallen  on  a  reso- 
lute, unanimous  people,  and  been  borne  forward  again.  Could  they 
have  passed  a  Catholic  Bill,  any  '  Bill '  requiring  the  smallest  ad- 
dress or  management?  Wellington  is  at  the  stake  (in  effigy)  in  all 
market  towns;  undeservedly,  as  I  imagine.  The  man  seems  a  Tory 
soldier;  otherwise  a  person  of  great  intrepidity,  strategic-diplomatic 
faculty,  soldierly  (Dalgettyish)  principle,  and  even  directness  and 
plainness  of  speech.  Fond  of  employment  doubtless,  fond  of 
power.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  honest  men  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
Earl  Grey  can  speak;  act  he  apparently  cannot.  He  should  resign 
directly  after  passing  his  Bill,  if  he  would  avoid  becoming  the  most 
unpopular  man  in  England,  which  poor  W.  now  is.  Basta :/" 

"Wednesday,  June  6. — Was  at  Templand  yesterday;  over  the 
'Bogra  Craig'  in  the  morning,  and  returned  at  night  by  the  Lag 
road.  Fine  scent  of  hawthorns  and  green  summer  herbs ;  old-fash- 
ioned thatched  cottages,  clean,  whitened,  warm  -  looking  in  their 
hdmliche  Eingezogenheit.  Woman  with  her  children  peeling  potatoes 
by  the  water-side,  down  in  the  chasm  at  Scarbridge.  At  night,  haw- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  165 

thorn  blossoms  again,  queen  of  the  meadows,  glowworms  hi  Glen- 
essland,  a  waning  moon,  and  gusty  northeaster.  My  own  thoughts 
sad  enough,  yet  not  of  that  hateful  emptiness.  They  are  thoughts, 
not  mere  sensations.  Mother  and  Jane  waiting  my  (late)  return." 

"Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  dead.  A  Whig  of  the  highest  ordsr, 
the  result  of  whose  life  is  well-nigh  exhausted  with  himself.  Hence- 
forth no  man  of  such  faculty  is  doomed  to  that  unfortunate  part  of 
a  '  supposer, '  well  paid  for  plainly  supposing,  and  so  seeming  plaus- 
ibly to  act,  but  may  become  a  believer,  and  actually  set  about  doing. 
I  saw  Mackintosh  only  once,  and  never  spoke  to  him,  only  heard 
him  speaking." 

"Very  kind  letter  from  Mill,  whose  zealous  and  quite  credible  ap- 
probation and  appropriation  of  '  Johnson '  gratifies  me,  I  doubt,  far 
more  than  it  should.  Unspeakable  is  the  importance  of  man  to  man. 
A  tailor  at  Thornhill,  who  had  vehemently  laid  to  heart  the  '  Char- 
acteristics,' was  also  a  glad  phenomenon  to  me.  Let  a  million 
voices  cry  out,  'How  clever  !'  it  is  still  nothing;  let  one  voice  cry 
out,  '  How  true  !'  it  lends  us  quite  a  new  force  and  encouragement." 

' '  I  have  no  books,  cannot  by  any  convenient  contrivance  get  any 
books;  a  little  money  in  this,  as  in  one  or  two  other  matters,  might 
do  something  for  me.  Hast  thou  not  the  'Book  of  Nature?'  A 
page  of  it ;  but  here,  in  the  Dunscore  Moss,  well-nigh  a  blank  leaf. 
Not  wholly  so.  Read  it  well." 

"  The  most  stupendous  of  gigmen  was  Phaeton;  drove  the  bravest 
gig,  and  with  the  sorrowfullest  results.  An  instance,  too,  of  what 
the  law  of  inheritance  produces.  He  had  built  no  sun  chariot  (could 
not  build  a  wheelbarrow),  but  would  and  could  insist  on  driving  one, 
and  so  broke  his  own  neck  and  set  fire  to  the  world." 

"July  21. — A  strange  feeling  of  supernaturalism,  of  'the  fearful- 
ness  and  wonderf ulness '  of  life,  haunts  me  and  grows  upon  me. 
Saw  Ben  Nelson  at  Annan  ;  long  talk  with  him.  Unluckily  my 
habit  (and  the  people's  habit  with  me)  is  rather  to  speak  than  to  lis- 
ten; I  mean  it  nowise  so,  but  so  I  often  find  it  has  proved." 

"  'Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Common  Honesty'  were  the  use- 
fullest  of  all  societies  could  it  take  effect." 

"July  22. — A  foolish  puppet  figure,  which  I  saw  in  a  huckster's 
shop-window  at  London  in  some  lane,  has  awakened  thoughts  in  me 
which  I  have  not  yet  found  any  words  for !  To  imagine ;  bilden  ! 
That  is  an  unfathomable  thing. 

"As  yet  I  have  never  risen  into  the  region  of  creation.  Am  I  ap- 
proaching it?  AcTi  Gott!  sick  ndhern  dem  unaussprechlichen  ! 

"  Was  there  ever  a  more  merry-andrew-looking  thing  (if  we  con- 
sider it)  than  for  a  wretched  creature  named  man,  or  gigman,  alight- 
ing for  one  instant  on  this  '  everlasting  earth, '  to  say,  it  is  mine !  It; 
consider  what  it  (the  earth)  properly  is — the  reflex  of  the  living  spirit 
of  man,  the  joint  production  of  man  and  God — 

'N";ttur  ist.  Schall  und  Ranch 
I'mnebelnd  Himmelsgluth. ' 


166  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

The  greatest  of  all  past  or  present  anti-gigmen  was  Jesus  Christ. 
This  age  is  quite  especially  wrecked  and  sunk  in  gigmanism." 

"Homer's  'Iliad'  would  have  brought  the  author,  had  he  offered 
it  to  Mr.  Murray  on  the  half -profit  system,  say  five-and-twenty  guin- 
eas. The  Prophecies  of  Isaiah  would  have  made  a  small  article  in 
a  review,  which,  paying  not  under  the  rate  of  three  guineas  a  slice  t 
(excluding  extracts,  whereof  there  are  none  in  Isaiah),  could  cheer- 
fully enough  have  remunerated  him  with  a  five -pound  note.  To 
speak  of  paying  the  writer  of  a  true  book  is,  on  the  whole,  delirium. 
The  thing  is  unpayable ;  the  whole  world  could  not  buy  it.  Could 
the  whole  world  induce  him  by  fee  or  reward  to  write  it  otherwise 
— opposite-wise?  Then  is  he  no  writer,  only  a  deplorable,  despica- 
ble scribbler,  waiting  till  the  besom  of  destitution  sweep  him  away. 

"Authors  are  martyrs — witnesses  for  the  truth — or  else  nothing. 
Money  cannot  make  or  unmake  them.  They  are  made  or  unmade, 
commanded  and  held  back,  by  God  Almighty  alone,  whose  inspira- 
tion it  is  that  giveth  them  understanding;  yet  for  the  world  whom 
they  address,  for  the  fitness  of  their  language  towards  it,  their  clear- 
ness of  insight  into  its  interests,  and  the  ear  it  shall  give  them — for 
all,  in  short,  that  respects  their  revelation  of  themselves  (not  their  ex- 
istence in,  themselves) — money,  as  the  epitome  and  magic  talisman 
of  all  mechanical  endeavor  whatsoever,  is  of  incalculable  impor- 
tance. Money  cannot  hire  the  writing  of  a  book,  but  it  can  the  print- 
ing of  it.  The  existence  of  a  public  library,  or  non-existence  there- 
of, in  the  circle  where  a  thinker  is  born  will  forward  his  thinking  or 
obstruct  and  prevent  it.  When  the  thinker  has  discovered  truth,  it 
depends  on  money  whether  the  world  shall  participate  in  such  dis- 
covery or  not  participate.  In  how  many  other  ways  (as  when  your 
nascent  wise  man  is  poor,  solitary,  uneducated,  etc.) can  the  '  talisman 
of  power '  cut  away  impediments  and  open  out  the  path !  Many  a 
fallen  spark  too  is  quenched,  or  lives  only  as  a  spark,  which  could 
have  been  fanned  into  a  cheerful  light  and  fire.  (No  end  to  all  this, 
which  is  to  go  into  that  paulo  post  future  essay  on  'Authors.') 

"  Cholera  at  Carlisle;  a  case  talked  of  in  Annandale.  The  cow- 
ardice or  bravery  of  the  world  manifests  itself  best  in  such  a  season. 
Nothing  lies  in  cholera,  with  all  its  collapses,  spasms,  blueness  of 
skin,  and  what  else  you  like,  except  death,  which  may  lie  equally  in 
a  common  catarrh — in  the  wheel  of  the  nearest  hackney-coach.  Yet 
here  death  is  original ;  the  dunce  who,  blinded  by  custom,  has  looked 
at  it  in  the  usual  forms,  heedless,  unreasoning,  now  sees  it  for  the  first 
time,  and  shudders  at  it  as  a  novelty.1 

"  'The  special,  sole,  and  deepest  theme  of  the  world's  and  man's 
history,  whereto  all  other  themes  are  subordinated,  remains  the  con- 

i  The  cholera  fell  very  heavily  on  Dumfries.  For  want  of  accommodation,  the  sick 
were  crowded  together  in  a  single  large  building,  out  of  which  few  who  had  entered 
came  out  alive.  The  town  was  terror-struck.  Carlyle  told  me  that  the  panic  at  last 
reached  the  clergy,  who  were  afraid  to  go  within  the  door  of  that  horrible  charnel- 
house  to  help  the  dying  in  their  passage  into  eternity,  but  preached  to  them  from  the 
outside  through  the  open  windows.  He  had  no  love  for  Catholic  priests  and  what  he 
called  their  poisoned  gingerbread  consolations;  but  in  this  instance  he  bore  an  ungrudg- 
ing testimony  that  the  only  minister  of  religion  who  ventured  in  among  the  sick-beds 
was  a  poor  priest;  and  the  poor  priest,  alas!  caught  the  infection  and  died. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  167 

flict  of  unbelief  and  belief.  All  epochs  wherein  belief  prevails,  un- 
der what  form  it  will,  are  splendid,  heart-elevating,  fruitful  for  con- 
temporaries and  posterity.  All  epochs,  on  the  contrary,  where  un- 
belief, in  what  form  soever,  maintains  its  sorry  victory,  should  they 
even  for  a  moment  glitter  with  a  sham  splendor,  vanish  from  the 
eyes  of  posterity,  because  no  one  chooses  to  burden  himself  with  a 
study  of  the  unfruitful.' — 'Goethe's  Works, 'vi.  159,  on  Moses  and 
his  Exodus." 

These  notes  show  how  powerfully  Carlyle's  intellect  was  working, 
how  he  was  cutting  out  an  original  road  for  himself,  far  away  from 
the  Radicalism  of  the  day.  But  it  is  in  the  nature  of  such  thoughts 
that  they  draw  off  a  man's  attention  from  what  is  round  him,  and 
prevent  him  from  attending  to  the  thousand  little  things  and  the 
many  great  things  of  which  the  commonplaces  of  life  are  composed. 
Vocal  as  he  was — pouring  out  whatever  was  in  him  in  a  stream  of 
talk  for  hours  together — he  was  not  the  cheerfullest  of  companions. 
He  spoke  much  of  hope,  but  he  was  never  hopeful.  The  world  was 
not  moving  to  his  mind.  His  anticipations  were  habitually  gloomy. 
The  persons  with  whom  he  had  come  in  contact  fell  short  of  the  de- 
mands which  the  sternness  of  his  temper  was  inclined  to  make  on 
them,  from  the  drudge  who  had  ill-cleaned  a  vegetable  dish,  to  the 
man  of  letters  who  had  written  a  silly  article,  or  the  Phaeton  who 
was  driving  the  State  chariot  through  the  wrong  constellations. 
Thus,  although  indigestion,  which  interfered  with  his  working,  re- 
called his  impatience  to  himself,  he  could  leave  his  wife  to  ill-health 
and  toil,  assuming  that  all  was  well  as  long  as  she  did  not  complain ; 
and  it  was  plain  to  every  one  of  her  friends,  before  it  was  suspected 
by  her  husband,  that  the  hard,  solitary  life  on  the  moor  was  trying 
severely  both  her  constitution  and  her  nerves. 

Carlyle  saw,  and  yet  was  blind.  If  she  suffered,  she  concealed  her 
trials  from  him,  lest  his  work  should  suffer  also.  But  she  took  ref- 
uge in  a  kind  of  stoicism,  which  was  but  a  thin  disguise  for  disap- 
pointment and  at  times  for  misery.  It  was  a  sad  fate  for  a  person 
so  bright  and  gifted;  and  if  she  could  endure  it  for  herself,  others, 
and  especially  Jeffrey,  were  not  inclined  to  endure  it  for  her.  Jef- 
frey had  been  often  in  Ampton  Street,  claiming  the  privileged  inti- 
macy of  a  cousin.  Eyes  so  keen  as  the  Lord-advocate's  could  not 
fail  to  see  how  things  were  going  with  her.  She  herself  perhaps 
did  not  hide  from  him  that  the  thought  of  being  again  immured  in 
Craigenputtock  was  horrible  to  her.  Liking  and  even  honoring  Car- 
lyle as  he  did,  he  did  not  like  his  faults,  and  the  Lord-advocate  was 
slightly  irritated  at  the  reception  which  Carlyle  had  met  with  in 
London,  as  tending  to  confirm  him  in  the  illusion  that  he  was  a 
prophet  of  a  new  religion.  He  continued  to  write  to  Mrs.  Carlyle 
tenderly  and  even  passionately,  as  he  would  have  written  to  a  daugh- 


168  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ter  of  his  own.  It  was  intolerable  to  him  to  think  of  her  with  her 
fine  talents  lost  to  all  the  enjoyments  that  belonged  to  her  age  and 
character,  and  provoking  to  feel  that  it  was  owing  to  moody  fancies 
too  long  cherished,  and  fantastic  opinions  engendered  and  fed  in  sol- 
itude. She  made  the  best  of  her  position,  as  she  always  did.  She 
had  been  greatly  interested  in  the  daughter  of  her  landlady  in  Amp- 
ton  Street,  Miss  Eliza  Miles,  who  had  so  romantically  returned  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  regard  that  she  had  proposed  to  go  back  with  her  as  a  ser- 
vant to  Craigenputtock.  Mrs.  Carlyle  knew  too  well  what  Craigen- 
puttock  was  to  allow  her  to  accept  Miss  Miles's  offer.  She  wrote  to 
her  occasionally,  however,  in  the  summer  which  followed  their  stay 
in  London,  and  invited  her  to  pay  the  place  a  visit. 

To  Miss  Eliza  Miles. 

"Craigenputtock:  June  16, 1832. 

"My  dear  Eliza, — I  could  wager  you  now  think  the  Scots  a  less 
amiable  nation  than  you  had  supposed,  least  of  all  to  be  commended 
on  the  score  of  good  faith.  Is  it  not  so?  Has  not  my  whole  nation 
suffered  in  your  opinion  through  my  solitary  fault?  In  February  I 
made  a  voluntary  engagement  to  write  to  you,  which  now  in  June 
remains  to  be  fulfilled.  Still  I  ana  fulfilling  it,  which  proves  that  it 
is  not  altogether  '  out  of  sight  out  of  mind '  with  me ;  and  could  I 
give  you  an  idea  of  the  tumult  I  have  been  in  since  we  parted,  you 
would  find  me  excusable,  if  not  blameless.  I  never  forgot  my  gentle 
Ariel  in  Ampton  Street ;  it  were  positive  sin  to  forget  her,  so  helpful 
she,  so  trustful,  so  kind  and  good.  Besides,  this  is  the  place  of  all 
others  for  thinking  of  absent  friends,  where  one  has  so  seldom  any 
present  to  think  of.  It  is  the  stillest,  solitariest  place  that  it  ever  en- 
tered your  imagination  to  conceive,  where  one  has  the  strangest 
shadowy  existence.  Nothing  is  actual  in  it  but  the  food  we  eat,  the 
bed  one  sleeps  on,  and,  praised  be  Heaven,  the  fine  air  one  breathes. 
The  rest  is  all  a  dream  of  the  absent  and  distant,  of  things  past  and 
to  come.  I  was  fatigued  enough  by  the  journey  home,  still  more 
by  the  bustling  which  awaited  me  there — a  dismantled  house,  no  ef- 
fectual servants,  weak  health,  and,  worse  than  the  seven  plagues  of 
Egypt,  a  necessity  of  painters.  All  these  things  were  against  me. 
But  happily  there  is  a  continual  tide  in  human  affairs ;  and  if  a  little 
while  ago  I  was  near  being  swept  away  in  the  hubbub,  so  now  I  find 
myself  in  a  dead  calm.  All  is  again  in  order  about  us,  and  I  fold 
my  hands  and  ask  what  is  to  be  done  next  ? 

"  'The  duty  nearest  hand  will  show  itself  in  course.'  So  my 
Goethe  teaches.  No  one  who  lays  the  precept  to  heart  can  ever  be 
at  a  stand.  Impress  it  on  your  '  twenty '  children  (that,  I  think, 
was  the  number  you  had  fixed  upon).  Impress  it  on  the  whole 
twenty  from  the  cradle  upwards,  and  you  will  spare  your  sons 
the  vexation  of  many  a  wildgoose  chase,  and  render  your  daughters 
forever  impracticable  to  ennui.  Shame  that  such  a  malady  should 
exist  in  a  Christian  land:  should  not  only  exist,  but  be  almost  gen- 
eral throughout  the  whole  female  population  that  is  placed  above 
the  necessity  of  working  for  daily  bread.  If  I  have  an  antipathy 


LIFE   OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE.  169 

for  any  class  of  people,  it  is  for  fine  ladies.  I  almost  match  my  hus- 
band's detestation  of  partridge-shooting  gentlemen.  Woe  to  the 
fine  lady  who  should  find  herself  set  down  at  Craigenputtock,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  left  alone  with  her  own  thoughts — no  'fancy 
bazaar'  in  the  same  kingdom  with  her;  no  place  of  amusement 
within  a  day's  journey;  the  very  church,  her  last  imaginable  re- 
source, seven  miles  off  !  I  can  fancy  with  what  horror  she  would 
look  on  the  ridge  of  mountains  that  seemed  to  enclose  her  from  all 
earthly  bliss ;  with  what  despair  in  her  accents  she  would  inquire 
if  there  was  not  even  a  'charity  sale'  within  reach.  Alas,  no!  no 
outlet  whatever  for  'lady's  work,'  not  even  a  book  for  a  fine  lady's 
understanding.  It  is  plain  she  would  have  nothing  for  it  but  to  die 
as  speedily  as  possible,  and  so  relieve  the  world  of  the  expense  of 
her  maintenance.  For  my  part,  I  am  very  content.  I  have  every- 
thing here  my  heart  desires  that  I  could  have  anywhere  else,  except 
society,  and  even  that  deprivation  is  not  to  be  considered  wholly  an 
evil.  If  people  we  like  and  take  pleasure  in  do  not  come  about  us 
here  as  in  London,  it  is  thankfully  to  be  remembered  that  '  here  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest.'  If  the 
knocker  make  no  sound  for  weeks  together,  it  is  so  much  the  better 
for  my  nerves.  My  husband  is  as  good  company  as  reasonable 
mortal  could  desire.  Every  fair  morning  we  ride  on  horseback  for 
an  hour  before  breakfast.  My  precious  horse  knew  me  again,  and 
neighed  loud  and  long  when  he  found  himself  in  his  old  place. 
And  then  we  eat  such  a  surprising  breakfast  of  home-baked  bread 
and  eggs,  etc.,  etc.,  as  might  incite  anyone  that  had  breakfasted  so 
long  in  London  to  write  a  pastoral.  Then  Carlyle  takes  to  his 
writing,  while  I,  like  Eve,  '  studious  of  household  good,'  inspect  my 
house,  my  garden,  my  live-stock,  gather  flowers  for  my  drawing- 
room,  and  lapfuls  of  eggs;  and  finally  betake  myself  also  to  writing 
or  reading,  or  making  or  mending,  or  whatever  work  seems  fittest. 
After  dinner,  and  only  then,  I  lie  on  the  sofa  (to  my  shame  be  it 
spoken),  sometimee  sleep,  but  oftenest  dream  waking.  In  the  even- 
ing I  walk  on  the  moor — how  different  from  Holborn  and  the 
Strand! — and  read  anything  that  does  not  exact  much  attention. 
Such  is  my  life,  agreeable  as  yet  from  its  novelty,  if  for  nothing  else. 
Now  would  you  not  like  to  share  it?  I  am  sure  you  would  be  happy 
beside  us  for  a  while,  and  healthy,  for  I  would  keep  all  drugs  from 
your  lips,  and  pour  warm  milk  into  you.  Could  you  not  find  an 
escort  and  come  and  try  ?  At  all  rates,  write  and  tell  me  how  you 
are,  what  doing,  what  intending.  I  shall  always  be  interested  in  all 
that  concerns  you.  My  health  is  slowly  mending. 

"  Yours  affectionately,  JANE  CARLYLE." 

This  is  pretty,  and  it  shows  Craigenputtock  on  its  fairest  side. 
But  there  was  a  reverse  of  the  picture.  I  have  not  seen  any  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle's  letters  to  Jeffrey,  but  in  one  of  them  she  sent  some  verses. 
It  was  summer,  for  there  were  rose-leaves  along  with  them,  for 
which  Jeffrey  seems  to  have  asked.  That  the  verses  below  were 
written  at  Craigenputtock  is  certain,  for  they  are  dated  from  '  The 
Desert.'  Time,  circumstances,  and  Jeffrey's  own  acknowledgment 

II. -8 


170  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

that  she  had  sent  him  verses  of  some  kind,  make  it  almost  certain 
that  they  belong  to  this  particular  period.  I  find  them  among 
loose  fragments  in  her  own  portfolio: 

"  To  a  Swallow  Building  under  our  Eaves. 

"  Thou  too  hast  travelled,  little  fluttering  thing- 
Hast  seen  the  world,  and  now  thy  weary  wing 

Thou  too  must  rest. 

But  much,  my  little  bird,  couldst  thou  but  tell, 
I'd  give  to  know  why  here  thou  lik'st  so  well 

To  build  thy  nest. 

"  For  thou  hast  passed  fair  places  in  thy  flight; 
A  world  lay  all  beneath  thee  where  to  light; 

And,  strange  thy  taste, 
Of  all  the  varied  scenes  that  met  thine  eye — 
Of  all  the  spots  for  building  'nealh  the  sky — 

To  choose  this  waste. 

"  Did  fortune  try  thee  ?  was  thy  little  purse 
Perchance  run  low,  and  thou,  afraid  of  worse, 

Felt  here  secure  ? 

Ah  no !  thou  need'st  not  gold,  thou  happy  one ! 
Thou  know'st  it  not.    Of  all  God's  creatures,  man 

Alone  is  poor  I 

"  What  was  it,  then  ?  some  mystic  turn  of  thought, 
Caught  under  German  eaves,  and  hither  brought, 

Marring  thine  eye 

For  the  world's  loveliness,  till  thou  art  grown 
A  sober  thing  that  dost  but  mope  and  moan, 

Not  knowing  why  1 

"  Nay,  if  thy  mind  be  sound,  I  need  not  ask, 
Since  here  I  see  thee  working  at  thy  task 

With  wing  and  beak. 

A  well-laid  scheme  doth  that  small  head  contain, 
At  which  thou  work'st,  brave  bird,  with  might  and  main, 

Nor  more  need'st  seek. 

"  In  truth,  I  rather  take  it  thou  hast  got 
By  instinct  wise  much  sense  about  thy  lot, 

And  hast  small  care 
Whether  an  Eden  or  a  desert  be 
Thy  home,  so  thou  remain'st  alive,  and  free 

To  skim  the  air. 

"  God  speed  thee,  pretty  bird;  may  thy  small  nest 
With  little  ones  all  in  good  time  be  blest. 

I  love  thee  much ; 

For  well  thou  managest  that  life  of  thine. 
While  I !  oh,  ask  not  what  I  do  with  mine  I 

Would  I  were  such! 
"The  Desert." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A.D.  1832.    .ET.  37. 

JEFFKEY  carried  Mrs.  Carlyle's  sad  verses  with  him  to  the  "glades  " 
of  Richmond,  to  muse  upon  them,  and  fret  over  his  helplessness. 
To  him  his  cousin's  situation  had  no  relieving  feature,  for  he  be- 
lieved that  Carlyle  was  entered  on  a  course  which  would  end  only 
less  ruinously  than  Irving's — that  he  was  sacrificing  his  own  pros- 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  171 

pects,  as  well  as  his  wife's  happiness,  to  arrogant  illusions.  The 
fact  was  not  as  Jeffrey  saw  it.  Carlyle  was  a  knight-errant,  on  the 
noblest  quest  which  can  animate  a  man.  He  was  on  the  right 
road,  though  it  was  a  hard  one  ;  but  the  lot  of  the  poor  lady  who 
was  dragged  along  at  his  bridle-rein  to  be  the  humble  minister  of  his 
necessities  was  scarcely  less  tragic.  One  comfort  she  had — he  had 
recovered  her  pony  for  her,  and  she  could  occasionally  ride  with 
him.  His  mother  came  now  and  then  to  Craigenputtock  to  stay 
for  a  few  days;  or,  when  a  bit  of  work  was  done,  they  would 
themselves  drive  over  to  Scotsbrig.  So  far  as  Carlyle  himself  was 
concerned,  his  letters  give  an  unusually  pleasant  impression  of  his 
existing  condition. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyte,  Scotubrig. 

"  Craigenputtock  :  June  29,  1832. 

"  My  dear  Mother, — You  shall  have  a  short  note  from  me,  though 
my  task  should  stand  half  done  all  night.  Peter  Austin,  I  expect, 
will  take  you  this  on  Monday,  and  tell  you  all  about  our  last  peat- 
leading,  and  what  not ;  but  I  imagine  you  will  not  dislike  a  word 
under  my  own  hand  also. 

"Thank  Jean  for  her  letter:  it  gave  us  great  relief  to  know  that 
you  were  getting  into  your  natural  way  again ;  that  the  rest  were  all 
in  theirs.  Let  us  hope  this  good  state  of  matters  still  holds.  As  for 
yourself,  I  think  you  must  go  and  have  a  plunge  in  the  Solway  this 
fine  weather.  When  I  come  down  next,  I  will  try  to  keep  an  eye  on 
the  moon,  bring  the  clatch  with  me,  and  roll  you  along  therein  my- 
self. I  too  want  much  to  be  bathed. 

"  We  are  all  going  on  as  you  saw  us,  or  better.  Jane  is  a  little 
out-of-sorts  these  two  or  three  days,  but  in  general  seems  clearly 
improving.  The  boy  has  cleaned  the  garden,  which  looks  well 
now,  and  is  at  this  moment  slashing  like  a  Waterloo  hero  among 
the  nettle  and  dock  hosts  over  the  paling.  I  hope  they  will  not 
smother  him  up,  but  that  his  little  arm  and  blunt  hook  will  cut  a 
way  through  them.  Betty  has  got  'Noolly'  (the  cow)  back  again, 
little  improved  in  temper,  she  says.  Soft  grass  will  soften  her. 

"As  for  myself,  I  am  doing  my  utmost,  and  seeing,  as  you  coun- 
selled, not  'to  make  it  too  higli.'  In  spite  of  'the  Taylors'  ap- 
plauses,' I  find  myself  but  a  handless  workman  too  often,  and  can 
only  get  on  by  a  dead  struggle.  This  thing,  I  calculate,  will  be 
over  in  two  weeks,  and  so  the  stone  rolled  from  my  heart  again — 
for  a  little.  I  mean  to  run  over  and  ask  what  you  are  doing  shortly 
after ;  most  probably  I  will  write  first,  by  Notman. '  For  the  rest, 
I  am  well  enough,  and  cannot  complain  while  busy.  I  go  riding  ev- 
ery fair  morning,  sometimes  as  early  as  six,  and  enjoy  this  blessed 
June  weather,  oftenest  on  the  Galloway  side,  the  road  being  open 
and  good  now.  My  beast  is  wholly  satisfactory:  learns  fast  to 
ride,  is  already  a  good  canterer,  tame,  quiet,  and  biddable  as  ever 
horse  was.  The  boy  has  had  it  in  the  cart,  too,  and  finds  no  diffl- 

i  The  carrier. 


172  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

culty  in  handling  it.     So,  dear  mother,  on  that  head  set  your  heart 
at  rest. 

"No  Examiner  came  this  week.  I  have  charged  Alick  to  send 
you  over  the  Courier  by  Peter.  The  following  week  you  will  find 
either  it  or  something  at  the  post-office  at  the  usual  time.  Anjrway, 
there  are  no  news  of  moment.  The  poor  old  king  has  been  hit  (by 
a  solitary  blackguard)  with  a  stone.  Wellington  was  peppered  with 
'  mud  and  dead  cats '  along  the  whole  length  of  London.  I  am  sad 
for  him,  yet  cannot  but  laugh  to  think  of  the  business:  the  cast- 
metal  man  riding  slowly  five  long  miles,  all  the  way  like  a  pillar  of 
glass  !  Every  beast,  you  see,  has  its  burden ;  every  dog  its  day. 

' '  Now,  dear  mother,  you  see  I  must  finish.  My  brotherly  love  to 
them  all.  Take  care  of  yourself,  and  let  me  find  you  well.  All 
good  be  with  you  all,  now  and  ever ! 

"  Your  affectionate  son,  T.  CARLTLE." 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"  Craigenputtock :  July  2, 1832. 

"We  are  all  well,  and  where  we  were.  Our  mother  was  here 
with  us  for  a  fortnight  not  quite  three  weeks  ago,  and  I  took  her 
down  in  the  gig,  by  Alick's,  too,  in  whose  house  and  farm1  we  found 
all  prosperous.  He  was  making  a  gate  when  we  came  up  to  the 
brae,  but  soon  threw  down  his  axes  in  delight  to  see  us.  It  is 
thought  he  has  not  changed  for  the  worse,  and  may  do  well  in  the 
Water  of  Milk,  which  he  looks  like  doing,  for  there  is  a  great  im- 
provement in  him,  and  increase  not  only  of  gravity,  but  of  earnest 
sense  and  courage.  His  little  girl  is  a  queer,  gleg,  crowing  creature, 
whom  he  takes  much  delight  in.  Jamie,  too,  and  the  sisters  are 
doing  well,  and  seem  to  go  on  judiciously  enough  together,  a  proper 
enough  spirit  seeming  to  pervade  all  of  them.  Our  good  mother 
is  very  serious,  almost  sad  (as  she  well  may  be),  yet  not  unhealthy, 
not  altogether  heavy  of  heart.  She  has  her  trust  on  what  cannot  die. 

"Such  much  for  Annandale,  where  you  see  there  are,  as  our 
mother  piously  says,  many  mercies  still  allotted  to  us. 

"As  to  Craigenputtock,  it  is,  as  formerly,  the  scene  of  scribble- 
scribbling.  Jane  is  in  a  weakly  state  still,  but  I  think  clearly  gath- 
ering strength.  Her  life  beside  me  constantly  writing  here  is  but 
a  dull  one;  however,  she  seems  to  desire  no  other;  has,  in  many 
things,  pronounced  the  word  Entsagen,  and  looks  with  a  brave  if 
with  no  joyful  heart  into  the  present  and  the  fiiture.  She  manages 
all  things — poultry,  flowers,  bread-loaves;  keeps  a  house  still  like  a 
bandbox,  then  reads,  or  works  (as  at  present)  on  some  translation 
from  Goethe.  I  tell  her  many  times  there  is  much  for  her  to  do  if 
she  were  trained  to  it :  her  whole  sex  to  deliver  from  the  bondage 
of  frivolity,  dollhood,  and  imbecility,  into  the  freedom  of  valor  and 
womanhood.  Our  piano  is  quite  out  of  tune,  and  little  better  than 
a  stocking-frame ;  this  is  an  evil  not  remediable  just  yet,  so  we  must 
want  music.  We  have  a  boy  servant  named  Me  Whir,  a  brisk,  wise 
little  fellow,  who  can  scour  knives,  weed  carrot  beds,  yoke  gigs,  trim 
saddle-horses,  go  errands,  and  cart  coals — a  very  factotum  of  a  boy 

*  New  farm  to  which  Alick  Carlyle  had  removed,  called  Catlinns. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  173 

— at  the  rate  of  one  sovereign  per  semestre.  He  brings  the  horses 
round  every  favorable  morning  (Alick  and  Jamie  got  me  a  noble 
gray  mare  at  Longtown),  and  Jane  and  I  go  off  riding,  for  which 
we  have  now  two  roads,  the  Glaister  Hill  one  being  remade  and 
smoothed,  and  a  bridge  just  about  built  over  the  Orr.  Our  weather 
in  these  mornings  would  hardly  do  discredit  to  Italy  itself.  Fur- 
thermore, a  huge  stack  of  the  blackest  peats  was  built  up  for  us 
last  week.  Me  \Vhir  has  cleaned  the  garden,  full  of  roses  now,  has 
hewn  down  innumerable  nettle  and  dock  weeds  hi  the  'new  wood,' 
where  some  of  the  trees  are  quite  high,  and  is  busy  this  day  weed- 
ing the  '  hedge '  and  the  walk.  We  have  had  no  visits  but  one  of 
a  day  from  John  Welsh  of  Liverpool,  who  seemed  happy  and  fished 
in  the  Orr.  I  have  work  enough;  respect  more  than  I  deserve;  am 
not  without  thoughts  from  time  to  time;  and  so  we  play  our  part. 
Of  my  writings  this  is  the  list:  one  often  mentioned  on  'Samuel 
Johnson,'  which  you  will  one  day  read  with  a  little  pleasure;  a 
Trauer rede,  also  often  mentioned,  on  the  'Death  of  Goethe, ' print- 
ed in  Bulwer's  Magazine,  never  yet  paid  for,  or  seen  by  me  in  print: 
a  speculative-radical  discussion  of  some  '  Corn-law  Rhymes '  (bold 
enough,  yet  with  an  innocent  smile  on  its  countenance),  of  which  I 
corrected  the  proof  (twenty-four  pages)  the  week  before  last  for 
Napier;  finally,  this  thing  I  am  now  at  the  thirtieth  page  of,  on 
'Goethe's  Works,'  a  baroque,  incongruous  concern,  which  I  am 
principally  anxious  to  get  done  with.  James  Fraser  is  again  willing 
to  employ  me  (though  at  that  double  rate),  the  people  having  praised 
'  Johnson.'  With  the  editorial  world,  in  these  mad  times,  I  stand 
at  present  on  quite  tolerable  footing.  I  mean  to  be  in  Edinburgh 
some  time  before  very  long,  and  keep  matters  going.  Here,  too,  let 
me  mention  that  I  am  at  no  loss  for  money  myself,  and  have  safely 
received  your  remittance  of  1001.,  and  written  to  Alick  that  I  will 
bring  it  down  with  me  next  time, or  send  it  sooner;  to  Jeffrey  I  will 
write  a  fit  message  on  the  same  subject  to-morrow.1  All  friends 
were  touched  with  a  kind  of  woe  joy  to  see,  as  I  said,  'the  color  of 
Jack's  money,'  after  so  many  misventures  and  foiled  struggles. 
Poor  Jack  will  be  himself  again,  in  spite  of  all  that,  and  make  the 
world  stand  about,  stiff  as  it  is,  and  make  a  little  (straight)  pathkin 
for  him.  Fear  it  not;  you  are  already  free  of  debt,  and  in  that  the 
miserablest  of  all  millstones  is  rolled  from  off  you.  I  too  expect  to 
pay  the  Advocate  his  money  (perhaps  along  with  yours) :  then  I  too 
shall  owe  no  man  anything.  Anti-gigmanism  is  the  fixed,  unaltera- 
ble Athanasian  Creed  of  this  house;  Jane  is  almost  stronger  in  it 
(and  in  anti-fine-ladyism)  than  myself.  So  while  the  fingers  will 
wag,  and  the  head  and  heart  are  uncracked,  why  should  we  care? 
The  world  is  a  thing  that  a  man  must  learn  to  despise,  and  even 
to  neglect,  before  he  can  learn  to  reverence  it,  and  work  in  it  and 
for  it. 

' '  Of  external  persons  or  news  we  hear  or  see  little.  Mrs.  Strachey 
sent  an  apologetic  little  letter  to  Jane  the  other  week.  She  was  just 
leaving  Shooter's  Hill,  and  about  settling  in  Devonshire,  I  think  at 

1  John  Carlylo  had  received  money  from  Jeffrey  besides  the  advances  which  he  had 
received  from  his  brother.  He  was  now  diligently  paying  all  his  debts. 


174  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Torquay.  She  is  earnest,  sad,  but  not  broken  or  dispirited.  From 
John  Mill  I  had  a  kind  sheet  of  news  and  speculations.  Mrs.  Aus- 
tin wrote  lately  that  Goethe's  last  words  were,  Macht  die  Fensterladen 
auf,  damit  ich  mehr  Lie/it  bekomme!  Glorious  man!  Happy  man! 
I  never  think  of  him  but  with  reverence  and  pride.  Jeremy  Ben- 
tham  is  dead,  and  made  his  body  be  lectured  over  in  some  of  their 
anatomical  school  j — by  Southwood  Smith,  I  think.  You  have  like- 
ly seen  this  in  the  papers;  also  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  lies  struck 
with  apoplexy,  deprived  of  consciousness,  and  expected  inevitably 
to  die,  at  a  hotel  in  Jermyn  Street!  He  has  a  son  and  daughter 
there  too;  and  dies  in  an  inn.  I  could  almost  cry  for  it.  G  all- 
devouring  Time !  O  unfathomable  Eternity !  Edward  Irving  is 
out  of  his  chapel,  and  seems  to  be  preaching  often  in  the  fields.  He 
has  rented  Owen's  huge,  ugly  bazaar  (they  say)  in  Gray's  Inn  Road, 
at  seven  guineas  a  week,  and  lectures  there  every  morning.  Owen 
the  Atheist,  and  Irving  the  Gift-of-Tongues-ist,  time  about;  it  is  a 
mad  world.  Who  our  poor  friend's  audience  are  I  hear  not.  It 
is  said  many  even  of  his  women  have  given  in.  Some  of  his  adher- 
ents seem  to  come  before  the  police  occasionally  when  they  gather 
crowds  on  the  street.  His  father,  worthy  old  Gavin,  was  taken 
away,  a  few  days  ago,  from  sight  of  these  perversities.  Electioneer- 
ing goes  on  here,  in  which  I  take  no  interest,  more  than  in  a  better 
or  worse  terrier-fight.  Reform  bill-ing  is  the  universal  business, 
not  mine.  .  .  . 

"I  wholly  understand  your  internal  contentions  at  this  period — the 
struggling,  Verwerfen,  and  Aufnehmen  that  you  have.  It  is  a  heavy 
burden  on  the  shoulders  of  every  true  man,  specially  at  this  epoch 
of  the  world.  It  is  by  action,  however,  that  we  learn  and  attain 
certainty.  The  time  for  this  with  you  is  coming;  be  ready  for  it. 
You  have  my  deepest  sympathy  in  these  spiritual  trials;  neverthe- 
less, I  see  them  to  be  necessary.  Not  till  now  have  you  decidedly 
looked  to  me  as  if  you  were  about  becoming  a  man,  and  finding  a 
manful  basis  for  yourself.  I  have  better  hope  than  ever  that  it  will 
turn  for  good.  Keep  up  your  heart,  my  dear  brother;  show  your- 
self a  valiant  man,  worthy  of  the  name  you  bear  (for  you  too  bear 
the  name  of  a  brave  man),  worthy  of  yourself.  Trust  in  me;  love 
me.  God  forever  bless  you  !  Your  affectionate 

"T.  CARLYLE." 

So  passed  the  summer.  The  Goethe  paper  (which  did  not  please 
him;  "the  time  not  having  come  to  speak  properly  about  Goethe") 
being  finished  and  despatched,  Carlyle  took  up  Diderot.  Diderot's 
works,  five-and-twenty  large  volumes  of  them,  were  to  be  read  through 
before  he  could  put  pen  to  paper.  He  could  read  with  extraordinary 
perseverance  from  nine  in  the  morning  till  ten  at  night  without  inter- 
mission, save  for  his  meals  and  his  pipes.  The  twelfth  of  August 
brought  the  grouse-shooting,  and  young  Welsh  relations  with  guns, 
who  drove  him  out  of  his  house,  and  sent  him  on  a  few  days'  riding- 
tour  about  the  country.  On  returning  he  at  once  let  the  shooting  of 
Craigenputtock,  that  he  might  be  troubled  with  such  visitors  no  more. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  175 

A  small  domestic  catastrophe  followed,  the  maid-servant  having  mis- 
conducted herself  and  having  to  be  sent  away  at  an  hour's  notice. 
Her  place  could  not  be  immediately  filled,  and  all  the  work  fell  on 
Mrs.  Carlyle.  "Oh  mother,  mother!"  exclaimed  Carlyle,  in  telling 
her  the  story,  "  what  trouble  the  Devil  does  give  us!  how  busy  he  is 
wheresoever  men  are!  I  could  not  have  fancied  this  unhappy, 
shameless,  heartless  creature  would  have  proved  herself  so;  but  she 
was  long  known  for  a  person  that  did  not  speak  tJie  truth,  and  of  such 
(as  I  have  often  remarked)  there  never  comes  good." 

Meanwhile  ' '  he  stuck, "  as  he  said,  ' '  like  a  burr  to  his  reading,  and 
managed  a  volume  every  lawful  day  (week-day).  On  Sabbath  he 
read  to  his  assembled  household  (his  wife,  the  maid,  and  the  stable- 
boy)  in  the  Book  of  Genesis."  And  so  the  time  wore  on. 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"  Craigenputtock :  August  31, 1832. 

"Your  letters,  I  see,  are  all  opened  and  resealed  again  before  they 
arrive ;  but  it  makes  little  difference,  since  such  is  the  will  of  the  Po- 
tentates, poor  fellows.  We  have  no  Carbonari  secrets  to  treat  of,  and 
are  quite  willing  to  let  any  biped  or  quadruped  reign  in  Italy,  or  out 
of  it,  so  long  as  he  can. 

"All  is  well  here  in  its  old  course.  My  article  works  are  all  pub- 
lished and  away  from  me.  The  '  Goethe, '  which  was  the  last  of  them, 
went  off  in  a  printed  shape  to  Catlinns  on  Wednesdav.  It  is  a  poor, 
fragmentary  thing;  some  of  it  was  put  into  Teufelsdrockh's  mouth, 
and  I  had  a  letter  from  London  since  asking  where  Teufelsdrockh's 
great  work  ('  Die  Kleider ')  was  to  be  fallen  in  with!  Did  I  say  that 
the  '  Corn -law  Rhymes '  was  printed  without  the  slightest  mutilation? 
So  far  well!  I  have  now  written  to  Napier  to  pay  me  for  it,  and 
with  the  proceeds  mean  forthwith  to  clear  scores  with  the  Advocate, 
and  sign  myself  Nemini  Debens.  This  is  one  fruit  which  springs 
from  my  labors;  and  why  should  I  calculate  on  any  other?  There 
are  two  little  translations  of  mine  off  to  Fraser — the  'Mahrchen,' 
with  a  Commentary;  a  shorter  piece  named  'Novelle.'  F.  is  very 
complaisant  with  me ;  whether  he  accept  or  reject  these  trifles  is  left 
with  himself.  My  next  task  is  a  very  tedious  one,  an  essay  on  Dide- 
rot ;  as  a  preliminary  for  which  I  have  twenty-five  octavo  volumes 
to  read,  and  only  some  eight  of  them  done  yet.  It  will  serve  me  till 
the  end  of  September,  and  be  worth  next  to  nothing  when  done.  I 
have  engaged  for  it,  and  must  accomplish  it.  For  the  rest,  be  under 
no  fear  lest  I  overwork  myself.  Alas !  quite  the  other  danger  is  to 
be  dreaded.  I  do  not  neglect  walking  or  riding  (as,  for  instance,  this 
morning).  Besides,  the  air  here  is  quite  specially  bracing  and  good. 
I  have  had  a  kind  of  fixed  persuasion  of  late  that  I  was  one  day  to 
get  quite  well  again,  or  nearly  so — some  day,  that  is,  between  this 
and  the  Greek  kalends.  Indeed,  on  the  whole,  I  am  full  of  a  senti- 
ment which  I  name  'desperate  hope,'  and  have  long  been  getting 
fuller.  We  shall  see  what  will  come  of  it.  Meanwhile,  in  my  im- 
prisonment here,  whether  for  life  or  not,  I  have  bethought  me  that  I 
ought  to  get  infinitely  more  reading  than  I  have  now  means  of,  and 


176  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

will  get  it  one  way  or  other,  though  the  Dumfries  libraries  I  have 
been  prying  into  the  rules  and  state  of  as  yet  yield  nothing.  A  very 
large  mass  of  magazines,  reviews,  and  such  like,  I  have  consumed 
like  srfioke  within  the  last  month,  gaining,  I  think,  no  knowledge  ex- 
cept of  the  no-knowledge  of  the  writing  world.  Books  produce  a 
strange  effect  on  me  here :  I  swallow  them  with  such  unpausing  im- 
petuosity from  early  morning  to  late  night,  and  get  altogether  filled 
and  intoxicated  with  them.  A  little  talk  were  wholesome  dissipa- 
tion for  me,  but  it  is  not  to  be  had,  and  one  can  do  without  it.  My 
Janekin,  if  not  a  great  speaker,  is  the  best  of  listeners,  and  what  she 
does  say  is  in  general  real  speech,  and  not  clatter. 

"On  Monday,  the  13th  of  this  month,  apprehending  with  reason 
an  inroad  of  grouse-killers,  I  fled  about  six  in  the  morning  (as  it  had 
been  previously  arranged)  into  Galloway.  I  breakfasted  with  Skir- 
ving  of  Croys,  rode  through  Castle  Douglas  with  its  withered  '  Re- 
form Jubilee'  triumphal  arch  (most  villages  have  had  such),  and 
about  two  o'clock  was  in  the  parlor  of  Kirk  Christ.  The  Churches 
were  in  high  spirits  to  see  me;  I  remembered  with  a  kind  of  shudder 
that  it  was  nine  years  since  you  and  I  went  thither  on  my  last  pre- 
vious visit.  The  old  people  are  hardly  changed,  look  healthy  and 
prosperous;  all  was  trim  about  them,  flourishing  crops,  and  the  hope 
of  harvest  just  about  to  begin  realizing  itself.  Great  change  in  the 
younger  parties:  two  female  infants  become  rather  interesting  young 
ladies;  John,  whom  I  remembered  in  bib  and  tucker,  shot  up  to  six 
feet  and  more,  a  talking,  prompt,  rather  promising  young  man,  in- 
tended for  the  factor  line.  I  could  not  but  reflect,  as  I  have  done 
more  than  once  of  late,  how  small  a  proportion  of  mere  intellect  will 
serve  a  man's  turn  if  all  the  rest  be  right.  John  Church,  as  I  said, 
promises  well;  James,  of  Calcutta,  is  doing  admirably  well;  and 
their  heads  are  both  of  the  smallest.  Church  was  full  of  Hercula- 
neum,  and  will  question  you  strictly  when  he  gets  you.  Poor  Don- 
aldson, the  schoolmaster,  my  old  comrade  in  Kirkcaldy,  has  had  to 
put  away  his  wife  for  the  sin  of  drunkenness,  and  was  a  saddish  kind 
of  sight  to  me.  I  called  on  old  Gordon;  terrified  him  much,  but 
found  him  a  very  worthy  and  sensible  man.  Finally,  on  Thursday 
morning  I  departed  for  Girthon,  and  by  rough  ways  and  over  deep 
rivers  reached  home  that  evening  about  six.  Galloway  was  beauti- 
ful, all  green  and  orange  under  the  clear  mellow  sky.  I  had  glanced 
into  a  peopled  country,  seen  old  friends,  and  not  wholly  wasted  my 
time. 

"From  Annandale  I  hear  good  news  and  nothing  else  three  days 
ago.  They  are  all  well;  our  mother  rather  better  than  usual.  Ja- 
mie had  begun  his  harvest;  the  crops  excellent;  the  weather  rather 
damp. 

"  Alick  gets  the  Courier  newspaper  from  us  weekly;  our  mother 
the  Examiner,  of  which  she  is  exceedingly  fond.  In  respect  of  this 
latter  your  punctuality  is  now  and  then  desiderated ;  Tom  Holcrof t, 
who  sends  it  to  us,  misses  about  one  in  the  month,  and,  I  suppose, 
cannot  help  it.  I  have  just  written  to  Mill,  inquiring  whether  he 
can  form  no  other  arrangement  for  us.  Holcroft  has  never  written, 
and  I  hear  not  a  word  about  him  or  Badams,  or  any  one  von  ditsem 
Geschlechte.  Neither  has  the  '  noble  lady '  ever  written,  though  she 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  177 

was  written  to  months  ago.  Perhaps  I  should  rather  honor  her  for 
this  omission  or  forbearance;  Jane  and  I  had  evidently  become  hate- 
ful to  all  that  diabolic  household,  and  on  our  side  quite  satisfied,  not 
to  say  sated,  of  it.  Nevertheless,  the  noble  lady,  quick  as  a  lynx  to 
see  this,  stood  by  us  faithfully  and  acted  with  friendliest  regard  and 
very  reverence  to  the  very  last.  Now  perhaps  she  thinks  such  effort 
superfluous,  and  so  do  we.  Her  feeling,  we  know,  is  kindly,  and  can 
be  translated  into  no  action  of  importance.  Poor  old  Montagu 
seemed  wearied  out  and  failing.  Badams  used  to  say  he  would  not 
last  long.  Procter  is  an  innocent  kind  of  body,  but  not  undeserving 
the  name  our  little  lady  here  used  to  give  him,  '  that  dud.'  A  more 
entire  dud  it  would,  perhaps,  be  difficult  to  find  in  the  poetical  or 
periodical  world.  Mrs.  P.  is  honest,  keen,  and  shallow.  God  mend 
them  and  us!  we  can  do  them  'neither  ill  na'  good.' 

' '  My  British  news  are  now  nearly  written.  I  need  not  trouble 
you  with  Reform  Bill  rejoicings — and  then,  alas!  with  the  election- 
eerings. It  is  here  that  the  Reform  Bill  comes  to  the  test.  Set  the 
angel  Gabriel  to  elect  a  Parliament:  how  shall  he  succeed  when 
there  is  none  to  elect.  However,  a  new  generation  will  rise — and 
then.  The  Advocate,  I  find,  is  at  Edinburgh  canvassing,  and  will 
succeed  though  the  whole  country  (that  had  much  hope  in  him) 
have  been  disappointed.  They  say  he  will  be  made  a  judge  when 
any  vacancy  occurs  and  will  be  set  free  of  politics.  It  were  a  happy 
change. 

"Of  Edward  Irving  I  hear  nothing  except  through  the  newspa- 
pers. Last  week  it  was  said  they  had  taken  a  large  house  (now 
used  as  an  exhibition  establishment)  in  Newman  Street,  Oxford 
Street,  and  were  to  put  a  gallery  in  it,  and  were  to  preach  and  shriek 
there.  He  has  published  three  papers  in  Fraser  on  his  Tongues.  I 
read  the  last  yesternight,  and  really  wondered  over  it.  He  says  he 
cannot  believe  that  God,  whom  they  had  so  prayed  to,  etc.,  would 
cheat  them.  Neither  can  I.  Oh,  my  poor  friend  Irving,  to  what 
base  uses  may  we  come ! 

"  But  you  have  enough  of  this.  I  must  now  turn  for  a  moment 
to  Naples. 

"We  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  accounts  you 
send  us.  All  seems  moving  as  it  ought,  or  nearly  so.  If  you  be 
spared  to  come  back  to  us,  you  will  have  means  of  settling  yourself 
where  you  see  fittest;  above  all,  you  will  have  inward  means.  We 
shall  find  you,  I  can  well  perceive,  a  new  man  in  many  things.  All 
right;  only  do  not  turn  yourself  inwards.  Man  may  doubt  as  he 
will,  but  the  great  fact  remains:  He  is  here,  and  'not  to  ask  ques- 
tions, but  to  do  work.'  Kein  Orubeln!  N'ecoute  toi!  Cor  ne  edito! 
Do  not  come  back  from  Italy  as  if  you  had  been  living  in  a  well; 
speak  with  all  people;  no  mortal  but  has  something  to  tell  could  you 
once  get  him  to  speak  TRUTH.  Continue  to  mind  your  duties;  to 
write  in  your  journal;  to  see  and  to  do  with  utmost  possible  freedom. 
I  write  these  things  in  the  shape  of  precept,  but  I  know  they  might 
as  well  be  put  down  like  commendations  and  encouragements,  for 
you  already  practise  and  in  great  part  accomplish  them.  Do  it 
more  and  more.  I  am  glad  you  like  Naples,  and  find  it  strange  and 
notable.  Had  I  the  Oriental  wishing  carpet,  I  were  soon  beside  you 

II.— 8* 


178  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

noting  it  too.  Gell  has  proved  a  little  worse  than  I  expected — not 
much  worse.  Do  you  speak  Italian  perfectly?  As  for  the  English 
— once  knowing  them  to  be  nonentities,  you  do  right  to  heed  them 
no  more;  then-  whole  secret  is  already  understood.  Not  so  with 
Italians.  Even  nonentities  and  simulacra  (who,  as  Fichte  says,  gar 
nicht  exiatireri)  of  the  human  sort  are  worth  studying  till  you  see 
how  they  are  painted  and  made  up.  But,  in  any  case,  you  are  not 
without  society.  Your  own  Countess  can  tell  you  innumerable 
things.  You  see  there  what  multitudes  are  so  anxious  to  see — an 
epitome  of  English  fashionable  life;  and  both  for  theory  and  prac- 
tice can  learn  much  from  it.  Tell  me  more  about  the  inside  of  your 
household — what  you  talk  of,  what  you  read,  what  you  do.  De- 
scribe all  your  '  household  epochs '  till  I  can  figure  them.  Did  you 
ever  see  Thorvaldsen  at  Rome  ?  Have  you  met  any  Italian  of  a  lit- 
erary cast?  any  of  a  thinking  character,  literary  or  not?  Is  there 
any  '  Count  Menso'  now  in  Naples  (Milton's  friend  and  Tasso's)? 
Is  the  blood  of  St.  January  now  in  existence?  Did  you  see  it  there? 
Where  does  Carlo  Botta  live,  the  historian?  What  of  Manzoni?  Or 
are  all  these  Lombards  and  unknown  in  your  country?  I  could  ask 
questions  without  end.  Finally,  dear  Jack,  be  of  good  heart,  for 
better  things  are  in  store  for  thee.  There  is  a  task  for  every  mortal 
in  this  world  of  the  Almighty's ;  for  thee  there  is  one  greater  than 
for  most.  Let  us  stand  to  our  work  full  of  '  desperate  hope.'  There 
is,  on  the  whole,  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  '  He  that  has  looked  death 
in  the  face  will  start  at  no  shadows.'  Come  home  to  us  when  the 
time  arrives — to  us  that  love  you.  Many  hearts  will  give  you  wel- 
come, and  rejoice  to  see  you  in  the  way  of  well-doing.  Our  dear 
mother  you  must  consider,  much  against  her  will,  wishing  and 
meaning  to  say  many  things,  but  unable.  So  for  the  rest  you  know 
the  affection  of  them  all.  Jane  will  not  send  compliments — scarce- 
ly even  kind  regards.  '  She  meant  to  write  the  whole  letter  herself, 
but  did  not  know  there  was  such  a  hurry,  and  now  I  have  done  it.' 
Patience !  there  is  a  good  time  coming.  The  good  wifie  is  clearly 
very  much  improved  in  health  (though  troubled  with  a  little  cold 
for  the  last  week);  and  imputes  her  cure  to  no  medicine  so  much  as 
to  an  invaluable  threefold  (trefoil)  which  grows  in  the  bogs  here,  and 
makes  most  excellent  bitter  infusion.  Our  old  mother,  also,  is  to 
have  some  of  it.  I,  too,  have  tried  it,  and  find  it  a  praiseworthy 
pharmacy.  Adieu,  T.  C. 

"P.S. — Cholera  is  spreading;  is  at  Carlisle,  at  Ayr,  at  Glasgow; 
has  hardly  yet  been  in  our  county — at  least,  only  as  imported.  It  is 
all  over  Cumberland.  '  Four  carriers,  one  of  them  from  Thornhill, 
breakfasted  together  at  Glasgow,  and  all  died  on  the  way  home.' 
The  Thornhill  one  did,  we  know.  It  has  gone  back  to  Sunderland 
and  Newcastle.  Medical  men  can  do  nothing,  except  frighten  those 
that  are  frightable.  The  mortality,  after  all,  is  nowise  so  quick  as 
in  typhus  form;  is  seen  every  year;  but  men  are  natural  blockheads, 
and  common  death  is  not  death." 

Extracts  from  Note-book. 

"  August  8. — I  cannot  understand  Morals.  Our  current  Moral  Law 
(even  that  of  philosophers)  affronts  me  with  all  manner  of  perplexi- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CAELYLE.  179 

tics.    Punishment  neither  is  nor  can  be  in  proportion  to  fault;  for 
the  commonest  of  all  examples  take  the  case  of  an  erring  woman." 

' '  And  then  how  strange  is  the  influence  of  what  we  call  honor: 
when  our  fellow-men  once  come  to  be  asked  for  their  vote,  how 
strangely  do  they  alter  everything  !  Where  are  the  limits  of  con- 
science and  honor?  what  relation  (even  for  the  anti-gigman)  do  the 
two  mutually  bear?  Moral  force  and  moral  correctness — how  shall 
the  litigation  be  settled  between  these?  Ought  there  to  be  any  un- 
pardonable offence?  Ought  the  judge  in  any  case  to  say  irrevoca- 
bly, Be  thou  outcast  (as  proud  fathers  have  done  to  erring  daugh- 
ters, for  instance)?  The  world  has  declared,  Yes.  Neither  is  there 
wanting  some  ground  for  it.  Necessity  rules  our  existence:  Man 
should  step  in  and  be  as  stern  as  Necessity,  and  take  the  word  out  of 
its  mouth.  Perhaps ;  yet  not  with  clear  certainty.  This  is  '  the  Place 
of  Hope.'  Should  man's  mind  have  sudden  boundless  transitions  of 
that  sort — have  vapor  ific  points,  and  freezing  points,  or  should  it  not? 
Weiss  nicht.  It  is  all  confused  to  me :  seems  to  be  all  ref ounding  it- 
self. Happily  the  practical  is  nowise  dubious." 

"  Toleration,  too,  is  miserably  mistaken;  means  for  most  part  only 
indifference  and  contempt:  Verachtung,  ja  Nichtachtung.  What  is 
bad  is  a  thing  to  be  the  sooner  the  better  dbolislied.  Whether  this 
imply  hatred  or  not  will  depend  on  circumstances.  Not  toleration, 
therefore,  but  the  quickest  possible  abolition :  that  were  our  rule.  A 
wicked  hatred,  in  abolishing,  substitutes  new  badness  (as  bad  or 
worse).  The  pure,  praiseworthy,  useful  Hatred  were  that  which 
abolished  and  did  not  substitute." ' 

"  I  am  getting  very  weary  of  the  '  Nature  of  the  Time,'  '  Progress 
of  the  Species,'  and  a'll  that  business.  The  Time  is  here ;  men  should 
use  it,  not  talk  about  it :  while  they  talk  and  lay  not  hold,  it  is  gone 
and  returns  not. " 

"  Great  is  self-denial!  Practise  it  where  thou  needest  it.  Life 
goes  all  to  ravels  and  tatters  where  that  enters  not.  The  old  monks 
meant  very  wisely:  hit  thou  the  just  medium." 

"Thou  com  plainest  that  enjoyments  are  withheld  from  thee,  and 
thereby  (thou  caring  nothing  for  enjoyment  for  its  own  sake)  thy 
culture  and  experiences  are  in  many  ways  obstructed.  Be  consist- 

1  This  sentence  did  not  please  Carlyle  or  adequately  express  his  meaning.  Suppose 
wo  put  it  in  this  way:  A  set  of  people  are  living  in  a  village  which  threatens  to  fall 
about  their  ears.  The  thatch  is  rotting,  the  foundations  sinking,  the  walls  cracking. 
Is  the  village  to  be  pulled  down,  and  are  the  people  to  be  left  houseless?  The  shelter 
is  bad;  but  still  it  is  some  shelter — better  than  none — and  likely  to  serve  till  something 
sounder  can  be  provided.  If  it  be  doing  no  harm  otherwise,  this  would  be  clearly  the 
rule.  Rut  suppose  the  village  to  be  breeding  the  plague  by  generating  poisonous  va- 
pors. Then  clearly  the  people  will  be  better  off  with  no  roof  over  them  but  the  sky. 
Substitute  for  the  village,  Paganism,  Romanism,  or  any  other  lingering  creed  which 
eager  persons  are  impatient  to  be  rid  of.  Is  Romanism  morally  poisonous?  Knox 
and  Cromwell  answered  clearly,  Yes;  and  with  good  reason,  and  so  did  not  tolerate  it. 
We,  with  or  without  good  reason,  have  found  it  no  longer  poisonous,  and  so  do  tolerate. 
Both  may  be  right.  In  our  toleration  there  is  no  indifference  or  contempt  In  the  in- 
tolerance of  Cromwell  there  was  a  hatred  of  the  iutensest  kind— hatred  of  evil  in  its 
concrete  form. 


180  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ent;  cultivate  thyself  in  the  want  of  enjoyment:  gather  quite  pecul- 
iar experiences  therein. " 

"August  11. — A  strange  force  of  what  I  call  'desperate  hope'  is 
gathering  in  me:  I  feel  a  kind  of  defiant  assurance  that  much  shall 
yet  be  well  with  me,  the  rather  as  I  care  little  whether  or  not." 

"It  is  true:  evil  must  always  continue:  yet  not  this  evil  and  that 
evil.  The  thing  convicted  of  falsehood  must  be  forthwith  cast  out : 
the  Radical  is  a  believer,  of  the  gross,  heathen  sort;  yet  our  only  be- 
liever in  these  times. 

"Politics  confuse  me — what  my  duties  are  therein?  As  yet  I 
have  stood^  apart,  and,  till  quite  new  aspects  of  the  matter  turn  up, 
shall  continue  to  do  so.  The  battle  is  not  between  Tory  and  Radi- 
cal (that  is  but  like  other  battles),  but  between  believer  and  unbe- 
liever. " 

"Am  inclined  to  consider  myself  a  most  sorry  knave;  but  must 
cease  considering  and  begin  to  work,  whether  at (?)  or  at  Dide- 
rot? At  the  latter  in  any  case  to-day;  and  herewith  enough. 

"  Oh !  life  turmoil— to-day— to-morrow 

Unfathomed  thing  thou  wcrt  and  art: 
In  sight,  in  blindness,  joy  and  sorrow, 
The  wondrous  Thomas  plays  his  part. 

"Awhile  hehold  him  flesh-clothed  spirit, 
He  reaps  and  sows  the  allotted  hours, 
Would  much  bequeath,  did  much  inherit, 
Oh!  help  the  helpless,  heavenly  powers." 

"  Seneca  was  born  to  be  of  the  Church  of  England.  He  is  the 
father  of  all  that  work  in  sentimentality,  and,  by  fine  speaking  and 
decent  behavior,  study  to  serve  God  and  Mammon,  to  stand  well 
with  philosophy  and  not  ill  with  Nero.  His  force  had  mostly  oozed 
out  of  him,  or  'corrupted  itself  into  benevolence,  virtue,  sensibility.' 
Oh !  the  everlasting  clatter  about  virtue !  virtue !  In  the  Devil's  name 
be  virtuous,  and  no  more  about  it!  Seneca  could  have  been  a  Bishop 
Heber;  Dr.  Channing,  too,  and  that  set,  have  some  kindred  with  him. 
He  was,  and  they  are,  better  than  nothing — very  greatly  better.  Sey 
gerade,  sey  vertraglich." 

"September  3. — Beautiful  autumn  days!  I  am  reading  Diderot, 
with  intent  to  write  on  him;  not  at  all  in  a  very  wholesome  state  of 
mind  or  body,  but  must  put  up  with  it,  the  thing  needs  to  be  done. 

"  I  thank  Heaven  I  have  still  a  boundless  appetite  for  reading.  I 
have  thoughts  of  lying  buried  alive  here  for  many  years,  forgetting 
all  stuff  about  '  reputation, '  success,  and  so  forth,  and  resolutely  set- 
ting myself  to  gain  insight,  by  the  only  method  not  shut  out  from 
me — that  of  books.  Two  articles  (of  fifty  pages)  in  the  year  will 
keep  me  living;  employment  in  that  kind  is  open  enough.  For  the 
rest,  I  really  find  almost  that  I  do  best  when  forgotten  of  men,  and 
nothing  above  or  around  me  but  the  imperishable  Heaven.  It  never 
wholly  seems  to  me  that  I  am  to  die  in  this  wilderness :  a  feeling  is 
always  dimly  with  me  that  I  am  to  be  called  out  of  it,  and  have 
work  fit  for  me  before  I  depart,  the  rather  as  I  can  do  eitlier  way. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  181 

Let  not  solitude,  let  not  silence  and  unparticipating  isolation  make 
a  savage  of  thee — these,  too,  have  their  advantages. " 

"  On  Saturday  (September  15),  being  summoned  to  Dumfries  as  a 
juryman,  and  my  whole  duty  consisting  in  answering  '  Here '  when 
my  name  was  called,  I  ran  out  to  the  Bank,  got  my  draft  from  Coch- 
rane  (for  '  Goethe ')  converted  into  cash,  added  to  it  what  otherwise 
I  had,  and  paid  the  Lord  Advocate  1031.  10*.,  my  own  whole  debt, 
and  John's  (431.  10$.,  which  had  been  already  sent  me  for  that  end); 
a  short,  grateful  letter  accompanied  the  banker's  cheque,  and  the 
whole  would  reach  its  destination  at  latest  last  Monday  morning.  I 
now  once  more  owe  no  man  any  money,  have  51.  in  my  possession 
still,  and  a  matter  of  501.  or  601.  due  to  me.  Be  thankful!" 

"  I  must  to  Edinburgh  in  winter;  the  solitude  here,  generally  very 
irksome,  is  threatening  to  get  injurious,  to  get  intolerable.  Work, 
work!  and  gather  a  few  pounds  to  take  thee." 

"Opinions  of  the  article  'Goethe,'  Cochrane  writes,  are  all  'emi- 
nently unfavorable.'  The  'eminently'  he  has  inserted  on  second 
thoughts  by  means  of  a  caret.  He  is  a  wondrous  man  to  see  editing, 
that  Cochrane;  what  one  might  call  an  Editing  Pig,  as  there  are 
learned  pigs,  etc.  He  is  very  punctual  in  paying,  and  indeed  gener- 
ally; that  is  his  only  merit.  Use  him  sharply,  almost  contemptu- 
ously, and  he.  remains  civil,  and  does  better  than  most.  Bibliopoly, 
bibliopoesy,  in  all  their  branches,  are  sick,  sick,  hastening  to  death 
and  new  genesis.  Enough  !  Acli  gar  zu  viel ! 

"  Great  meaning  that  lies  in  irrevocability,  as  in  '  eternal  creeds,' 
'  eternal  forms  of  government, '  also  in  final  irreversible  engagements 
we  make  (marriage,  for  one).  Worth  considering  this.  The  proper 
element  of  belief,  and  therefore  of  concentrated  action.  On  a  thing 
that  were  seen  to  be  temporary  (finite  and  not  infinite),  who  is  there 
that  would  spend  and  be  spent  ? 

"  Sir  Walter  Scott  died  nine  days  ago.  Goethe  at  the  spring  equi- 
nox, Scott  at  the  autumn  one.  A  gifted  spirit  then  is  wanting  from 
among  men.  Perhaps  he  died  in  good  time,  so  far  as  his  own  repu- 
tation is  concerned.  He  understood  what  history  meant;  this  was 
his  chief  intellectual  merit.  As  a  thinker,  not  feeble — strong,  rather, 
and  healthy,  yet  limited,  almost  mean  and  kleinstddtisch.  I  never 
spoke  with  Scott  (had  once  some  small  epistolary  intercourse  with 
him  on  the  part  of  Goethe,  in  which  he  behaved  not  very  courteous- 
ly, I  thought);  have  a  hundred  times  seen  him,  from  of  old,  writing 
in  the  Courts,  or  hobbling  with  stout  speed  along  the  streets  of  Ed- 
inburgh— a  large  man,  pale,  shaggy  face,  fine,  deep-browed  gray  eyes, 
an  expression  of  strong  homely  intelligence,  of  humor  and  good- 
humor,  and,  perhaps  (in  later  years  among  the  wrinkles),  of  sadness 
or  weariness.  A  solid,  well  -  built,  effectual  mind  ;  the  merits  of 
which,  after  all  this  delirious  exaggeration  is  done,  and  the  reaction 
thereof  is  also  done,  will  not  be  forgotten.  He  has  played  his  part, 
and  left  none  like  or  second  to  him.  Plaudite!" 

In  the  middle  of  October,  the  Diderot  article  being  finished,  the 
Carlyles  made  an  expedition  into  Annandale.  They  stayed  for  a  day 


182  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

or  two  at  Templand.  Carlyle,  "  having  nothing  better  to  do,"  rode 
over  with  Dr.  Russell,  of  Thornhill,  to  Morton  Castle,  "a  respecta- 
ble old  ruin,  which  looked  sternly  expressive,  striking  enough,  in  the 
pale  October  evening."  The  castle  had  belonged  to  the  Randolphs, 
and  had  been  uninhabited  for  two  centuries.  The  court  was  then 
a  cattlef  old.  In  the  distance  they  saw  the  remains  of  the  old  Church 
of  Kilbride,  where  Dr.  Russell  told  Carlyle,  "there  still  lay  open  and 
loose  on  the  wall  a  circular  piece  of  iron  framing,  once  used  for  sup- 
porting the  baptismal  ewer,  and  protected  for  350  years  by  a  super- 
stitious feeling  alone."  Leaving  Templand,  they  drove  round  by 
Loch  Ettrick,  Kirkmichael,  and  Lockerby,  stopping  to  visit  Alex- 
ander Carlyle  in  his  new  farm,  and  thence  to  Scotsbrig.  Here  the 
inscription  was  to  be  fixed  on  old  Mr.  Carlyle's  grave  in  Ecclefechan 
churchyard.  It  was  the  last  light  of  dusk  when  they  arrived  at  the 
spot  where  Carlyle  himself  is  now  lying.  ' '  Gloomy  empire  of 
TIME!"  he  wrote,  after  looking  at  it.  "How  all  had  changed, 
changed!  nothing  stood  still,  but  some  old  tombs  with  their  cross- 
stones,  which  I  remembered  from  boyhood.  Their  strange  suss- 
schauerlicJie  effect  on  me!  Our  house  where  we  had  all  lived  was 
within  stone-ca^t;  but  this,  too,  knew  us  no  more  again  at  all  for- 
ever." 

After  ten  days  they  returned  to  Craigenputtock,  bringing  "sister 
Jane  "  with  them,  who  was  followed  afterwards  by  the  mother.  The 
winter  they  meditated  spending  in  Edinburgh.  The  following 
pleasant  letter  to  John  Carlyle  was  written  a  day  or  two  before  they 
started  on  this  tour  : 

To  John  Carlyle,  Rome. 

"Craigenputtock:  October  17, 1832. 

"I  finished  my  'composition'  the  day  before  yesterday.  Am 
bound  for  Annandale  in  the  end  of  the  week;  and  so  here  we  are. 
I  will  not  seal  this  till  I  have  seen  our  mother,  for  I  have  Jieard 
nothing  of  them  in  a  positive  shape  for  many  weeks. 

"  There  is  little  or  nothing  to  be  written  of  transactions,  when 
the  change  of  weather  and  of  nervous  sensibility  are  almost  our 
only  events.  You  can  picture  out  Puttock,  and  how  I  sit  here  (in 
the  library),  with  a  blazing  fire  of  peats  and  coals,  careless  of  the 
damp,  surly  elements,  having  dulness  only  to  struggle  with.  We 
keep  a  Famulus  to  go  errands,  yoke  the  gig,  curry  the  cattle,  and  so 
forth;  who  proves  very  useful  to  us.  Jane  is  sitting  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  reads,  sews,  rules  her  household,  where  cow,  hens,  human 
menials,  garden  crop,  all  things  animate  and  inanimate,  need  looking 
to.  She  is  not  quite  so  brisk  as  she  was,  and  the  trefoil 1  has  long 
been  discontinued.  However,  she  is  certainly  far  better  than  while 
in  London,  and,  on  the  whole,  continuing  to  gather  strength.  The 

1  The  supposed  tonic  made  of  the  sorrel  which  grew  freely  in  the  Craigenputtock 
woods. 


LIFE   OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  183 

gray  mare  about  six  weeks  ago  kicked  her  harness  to  pieces  with  us, 
down  at  John  McKuight's,  without  the  slightest  provocation,  but  did 
us  no  damage ;  I  even  brought  the  dame  home  on  her  back.  How- 
ever, such  conduct  was  not  to  be  dreamt  of;  so  we  despatched  the 
animal  to  Alick,  to  make  ready  for  the  'rood  fair,'  who,  as  we  since 
vaguely  learn  (for  they  have  not  even  informed  us  of  this),  has  sold 
her  to  Jamie,  that  he,  in  carts  and  plough-harness,  may  teach  her 
'  another  road  to  the  well.'  With  unexampled  dexterity,  having  pro- 
cured an  awl  and  thread  from  Dumfries,  I  mended  the  old  harness 
again  (indiscernibly  to  the  naked  eye);  and  now  little  Harry  draws 
us,  and  makes  no  bones  of  the  matter,  being  in  good  heart  and  well 
provided  with  fodder,  both  long  and  short:  that  is  the  way  we  man- 
age. All  is  tight  and  sufficient  round  us,  and  need  not  be  in  disor- 
der :  we  want  for  nothing  in  the  way  of  earthly  proviant,  and  have 
many  reasons  to  be  content  and  diligent.  Recreation  we  have  none; 
a  walk,  a  ride,  on  some  occasions  a  combined  drive  for  health's  sake 
alone.  Miss  Whigham  (of  Allanton)  called  here  the  other  day,  and 
this  is  simply  our  only  call  since  we  came  from  London !  Poor 
"William  Carson,1  indeed,  bounces  up  about  once  in  the  month  to 
tea;  but  he  is  nigh  distracted,  and  one  cannot  count  on  him.  I  tried 
the  schoolmaster,  but  he  is  a  poor  raw-boned  Grampus,  whom  I  lent 
a  book  to,  but  could  get  no  more  good  of.  I  have  tried  some  of  the 
peasants,  but  them  also  without  fruit.  In  short,  mortal  communion 
is  not  to  be  had  for  us  here.  What,  then,  but  do  without  it?  Peter 
Austin  (of  Carstamon — Castra  Montium — we,  too,  have  had  our  Ro- 
mans) is  very  useful  to  us;  a  decent,  punctual  man,  the  shrewdest  of 
these  parts.  On  the  whole,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  get  anything 
better  than  a  cheap  and  very  peculiar  lodging  here ;  no  home,  I  im- 
agine, has  been  appointed.  For  whom  is  such  appointed?  The 
most  have  not  even  lodgings  except  by  sufferance.  The  Advocate 
acknowledges  his  debt  cleared;  it  is  the  only  thing  we  have  heard  of 
him  for  a  great  while.  I  imagine  pur  relationship  is  a  good  deal 
cooled,  and  may  now  be  visibly  to  him,  as  it  has  long  been  visibly  to 
me,  a  rather  fruitless  one.  His  world  is  not  our  world:  he  dwells  in 
the  glitter  of  saloon  chandeliers,  walking  in  the  '  vain  show '  of  par- 
liamenteering  and  gigmanity,  which  also  he  feels  to  be  vain;  we,  in 
the  whirlwind  and  wild  piping  battle  of  fate,  which,  nevertheless, 
by  God's  grace,  we  feel  to  be  not  vain  and  a  show,  but  true  and  a 
reality.  Thus  may  each  without  disadvantage  go  his  several  ways. 
If  Jeffrey's  well-being  ever  lay  in  my  reach,  how  gladly  would  I  in 
crease  it !  But  I  hope  better  things  for  him ;  though  he  is  evidently 
declining  in  the  world's  grace,  and  knows  as  well  as  the  world  that 
his  political  career  has  proved  a  nonentity.  Often  have  I  lamented 
to  think  that  so  genial  a  nature  had  been  (by  the  Zeitgeist  who  works 
such  misery)  turned  into  that  frosty,  unfruitful  course.  But,  as 
George  Rae  said, '  D — n  you,  be  wae  for  yoursel','  so  there  we  leave 
it.  On  that  busy  day  I  got  the  proof-sheets  of  that  Frascr  concern, 
'  The  Tale  by  Goethe, '  which  is  his  leading  item  for  this  month,  but  has 
not  got  hither  yet.  It  is  not  a  bad  thing;  the  commentary  cost  me 
but  a  day,  and  does  well  enough.  The  produce  belongs  to  my  little 

i  A  young  neighbor. 


184  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

dame  to  buy  pins  for  her;  she  got  it  as  present  long  ago  at  the  Hill, 
and  reckoned  it  unavailable.  Fraser  applied  for  a  paper  on  '  Wal- 
ter Scott :'  I  declined,  having  a  great  aversion  to  that  obituary  kind 
of  work — so  undertaker-like;  but  I  said  I  might  perhaps  do  it,  after- 
wards. This  thing  I  have  been  cobbling  together  last  is  a  long 
paper  on  Diderot,  for  Cochrane.  I  had  an  immense  reading,  to 
little  purpose  otherwise,  and  am  very  glad  to  have  it  all  behind  me. 
And  now,  after  a  few  days'  sight  of  friends,  I  must  back  hither  into 
the  wold,  and  dig  a  little  more. 

"We  are  not  for  Edinburgh  till  six  weeks  hence,  so  there  is  time 
to  do  something  previously.  I  shall  have  funds  enough:  there  is 
this  thing;  Napier,  too,  owes  me  above  601.,  some  of  it  for  nine  or 
ten  months,  and  seems  to  be  shy  of  paying.  I  shall  see  better  what 
he  means  in  Edinburgh;  his  Revieic,  except  for  Macaulay  (who  as 
yet  has  only  sung  old  songs  of  Liberalism  and  the  like,  with  a  new 
windpipe),  is  the  utterest  'dry  rubbish  shot  here;'  yet  by  a  kind  of 
fatality  it  may  linger  on  who  knows  how  long,  and  perhaps  Naso 
does  not  think  my  moisture  would  improve  it.  A  la  bonne  heure  ! 
There  are  plenty  of  able  editors  zealous  enough  to  employ  me:  this 
is  all  the  fame  (Fama  Diva!)  I  fall  in  with,  or  need;  so  that  when 
you  come  home,  Doctor,  there  will  be  a  considerable  volume  for  you 
to  read,  and  I,  in  the  interim,  have  lived  thereby.  I  do  not  mean 
to  work  much  at  Edinburgh  for  a  while,  but  to  ask  and  look;  that 
makes  me  the  busier  at  present.  It  is  three  years  I  have  been  absent, 
and  several  things  will  be  changed. 

"Your  offer,  dear  Jack,  is  kind,  brotherly,  suitable;  neither  shall 
you  be  forbid  to  pay  your  'debts,'  and  much  more  (if  you  come  to 
have  the  means,  and  we  both  prove  worthy) :  but  in  the  meanwhile 
it  were  madness  to  reap  corn  not  yet  in  the  ear  (or  kill  the  goose  for 
her  golden  eggs,  if  you  like  that  figure  better);  your  great  outlook  at 
present  is  to  get  yourself  set  up  in  medical  practice,  for  which  end 
all  the  money  you  can  possibly  save  will  be  essential.  I  look  to  see 
you  a  faithful  doctor,  real,  not  an  imaginary  worker  in  that  fold 
whereto  God's  endowment  has  qualified  and  appointed  you.  The 
rest,  I  say  honestly,  is  within  the  merest  trifle  of  indifferent  to  me. 
How  long  (were  there  nothing  more  in  it)  will  it  last  ?  Walter  Scott 
is  now  poorer  than  I  am;  has  left  all  his  wages  behind.  If  he  spoke 
the  truth,  it  was  well  for  him ;  if  not,  not  well. 

"Adieu,  dear  brother;  adieu.  T.  CARLYLE." 

Jeffrey's  relations  with  Carlyle  might  be  cooling.  To  his  cousin 
his  affection  was  as  warm  as  ever,  though  they  seemed  to  enjoy  tor- 
menting each  other.  He  had  been  long  silent,  finding  a  correspond- 
ence which  could  not  help  Mrs.  Carlyle  exceedingly  painful.  He 
had  been  busy  getting  himself  returned  for  Edinburgh;  but  some- 
thing more  than  this — impatience,  provocation,  and  conscious  ina- 
bility to  do  any  good — had  stopped  his  pen.  Now,  however,  he 
heard  that  the  Carlyles  were  actually  coming  to  Edinburgh,  and  the 
news  brought  a  letter  from  him  of  warm  anticipation. 

The  journey,  which  had  been  arranged  for  the  beginning  of  De- 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  185 

cember,  was  delayed  by  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  grandfather, 
her  mother's  father,  old  Mr.  Welsh  of  Templand,  which  ended  in 
death.  Mrs.  Carlyle  went  down  to  assist  in  nursing  him,  leaving 
her  husband  alone  with  his  mother  at  Craigenputtock — himself  busy 
in  charge  of  the  household  economies,  which  his  mother,  either  out 
of  respect  for  her  daughter-in-law,  or  in  fear  of  her,  declined  to 
meddle  with.  He  had  to  congratulate  himself  that  the  establish- 
ment was  not  on  fire ;  nevertheless,  he  wrote  that  his  ' '  coadjutor's 
return  would  bring  blessings  with  it."  The  illness,  however,  ended 
fatally,  and  she  could  not  come  back  to  him  till  it  was  over. 

To  John  Carlyle,  Home. 

"  Craigenputtock :  December  2, 1832. 

' '  Mrs.  Welsh,  I  told  you  in  my  last  letter,  was  not  well ;  we  had 
driven  over  the  moors  out  of  Annandale,  and  seen  her  as  we  passed, 
apparently  in  a  rather  better  state.  But  scarcely  had  sister  Jane 
after  a  week  got  conveyed  home  again,  and  our  mother  got  up  hither, 
on  pressing  invitation,  to  see  us,  when  a  letter  came  from  Templand 
with  intelligence  that  poor  old  grandfather  was  much  worse,  and 
Mrs.  Welsh,  throwing  by  all  her  own  ailments,  had  started  up  to 
watch  over  him;  whereupon  my  Jane  thought  it  right  to  set  off 
without  delay,  and  so  left  my  mother  and  me  by  ourselves  here.  It 
is  needless  to  fill  your  sheet  with  long  accounts  of  comings  and  go- 
ings, of  agitations,  sorrowings,  and  confusions;  enough  to  inform 
you  that  the  old  man  now  lies  no  more  on  a  sick-bed,  but  in  his  last 
home  beside  his  loved  ones  in  the  churchyard  of  Crawford,  where 
we  laid  him  on  Friday  gone  a  week.  He  had  the  gentlest  death,  and 
had  numbered  fourscore  years.  Fond  remembrances  and  a  mild 
long-anticipated  sorrow  attended  him.  Man  issues  from  eternity; 
walks  in  a  '  Time  Element '  encompassed  by  eternity,  and  again  in 
eternity  disappears.  Fearful  and  wonderful!  This  only  we  know, 
that  God  is  above  it,  that  God  made  it,  and  rules  it  for  good.  What 
change  of  life  this  may  produce  for  Mrs.  Welsh  we  have  not  under- 
stood yet.  Most  probably  she  will  retain  the  home  at  Templand, 
and  give  up  the  ground  and  farming  establishment.  Such,  at  least, 
were  her  wisest  plan.  But  Jane  and  I  hastened  off  on  the  Saturday 
to  relieve  my  mother,  who  was  watching  here  in  total  loneliness, 
agitated  too  with  change  of  servants  and  so  forth. 

"For  the  rest,  receive  thankfully  the  assurance  that  all  continues 
well.  The  cholera,  of  which  I  wrote  to  you,1  is  gone,  taking  about 
500  souls  with  it,  which,  from  a  population  of  13,000,  was,  in  the 
space  of  some  four  weeks,  rather  an  alarming  proportion.  The 
terror  of  the  adjacent  people,  which  was  excessive  and  indeed 
disgraceful,  has  hardly  yet  subsided.  Happily  the  pest  does  not 
spread;  a  few  cases  occurred  in  the  Galloway  villages,  elsewhere 
none,  or  hardly  any,  and  so  it  went  its  way  as  mysteriously  as  it  had 
come.  Nobody  connected  much  with  us  has  been  taken,  many  as 
were  exposed.  Death,  however,  in  other  shapes,  is  as  of  old  busy. 

1  As  being  at  Dumfries. 


186  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

James  Thomson  of  Cleughside  is  gone  lately.  .  .  .  Old  Wull  Nay  is 
dead ;  his  poor  old  wife  (they  say)  bitterly  lamented,  and  '  hung  by 
the  hearse,'  which,  however,  could  not  stay.  ...  A  son  of  Davie 
Corrie,  married  about  a  year  ago,  is  also  dead.  What  is  this  whole 
earth  but  a  kind  of  Golgotha,  a  scene  of  Death-Life,  where  inexora- 
ble Time  is  producing  all  and  devouring  all?  Happily  there  is  a 
Heaven  round  it;  otherwise  for  me  it  were  not  inhabitable.  Cour- 
age! courage! 

'Lus  zu  verewigen  smd  wir  ja  da.' 

"  On  Wednesday  I  got  your  letter  at  Dumfries;  called  also  at  the 
bank,  and  found  135Z.  ready,  for  which  I  took  a  bank  receipt  that 
shall  be  ready  for  you  on  your  home-coming.  I  do  not  need  the 
money  at  present,  and  you  will  need  it;  therefore,  much  as  I  rejoice 
in  the  spirit  you  display,  let  it  dabey  bleiben  till  we  see  how  times 
turn.  You  may  by  possibility  become  a  moneyed  man;  I  never. 
The  relation  between  us  in  any  case  is  already  settled. 

"  Alick  is  grown  more  collected,  has  lost  none  of  his  energy,  nor 
on  occasion  his  biting  satire,  which,  however,  his  wife  is  happily  too 
thick-skinned  to  feel.  They  will  struggle  on,  I  think,  and  not  be  de- 
feated. Jamie  too  goes  along  satisfactorily,  a  shrewd  sort  of  fellow 
with  much  gayety,  who  sometimes,  in  his  laughter-loving  moods,  re- 
minds me  slightly  of  you.  No  two  of  the  house  have  such  a  heart- 
relish  for  the  ludicrous,  though  we  all  like  it.  Our  good  mother  is 
in  tolerable  health  and  heart.  She  improved  much  with  us  here  the 
first  two  weeks,  but  fell  off  again  for  want  of  exercise  and  excite- 
ment. She  read  here  about  the  persecutions  of  the  Scotch  Church, 
and  in  some  of  Knox's  writings  I  had ;  not  even  disdaining  Fraser's 
Magazine,  or  the  Reviews.  She  is  still  very  zealous,  and  predicts 
black  times  (with. us)  for  the  world.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Lady 
Clare  would  be  much  amazed  with  your  descriptions  of  Scotch  life, 
and  might  learn  much  from  it.  From  Almack's  to  Ecclefechan  is  a 
wide  interval,  yet  strange  things  come  together.  Strictly  speaking, 
the  wretched  Ecclefechan  existence  is  the  more  tolerable  of  the  two, 
for  in  it  there  is  a  preordination  of  Destiny,  and  something  done; 
namely,  muslin  woven,  and  savage  bipeds  boarded  and  bedded. 
Alas  !  the  hand  of  the  Devil  lies  heavy  on  all  men.  But  days  quite 
saturated  with  Antigigmanism  are  surely  coming,  and  from  these 
better  will  arise.  The  completest,  profoundest  of  all  past  and  pres- 
ent Antigigmen  was  Jesus  Christ.  Let  us  think  of  this,  for  much 
follows  from  it.  Better  times  are  coming,  surely  coming.  Cast 
thou  thy  bread  on  the  wild,  agitated  waters,  thou  wilt  find  it  after 
many  days.  That  is  enough. 

"At  Edinburgh  I  expect  books,  some  conversation  with  reason- 
able, earnest,  or  even  with  unreasonable,  baseless  men ;  on  the  whole, 
some  guidance,  economical  if  not  spiritual.  Sir  William  Hamilton  is 
one  I  hope  to  get  a  little  good  of;  of  others,  too,  whom  hitherto  I 
have  not  personally  known.  Of  my  own  acceptance  with  all  man- 
ner of  persons  I  have  reason  to  speak  with  thankfulness,  indeed 
with  astonishment.  It  is  little  man  can  do  for  man,  but  of  that  lit- 
tle I  am  nowise  destitute.  In  any  case  we  will  live  in  our  own 
hired  house,  on  our  own  earned  money,  and  see  what  the  world  can 
show  us.  I  get  more  earnest,  graver,  not  unhappier,  every  day. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  187 

The  whole  Creation  seems  more  and  more  Divine  to  me,  the  Natural 
more  and  more  Supernatural.  Out  of  Goethe,  who  is  my  near  neigh- 
bor, so  to  speak,  there  is  no  writing  that  speaks  to  me  (mir  an- 
spricht)  like  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  though  they  lie  far  remote. 
Earnestness  of  soul  was  never  shown  as  there.  Ernst  ist  das  Le- 
ben  ;  and  even  to  the  last,  soul  resembles  soul.  Here,  however, 
speaking  of  Goethe,  I  must  tell  you  that  last  week,  as  our  mother 
and  I  were  passing  Sandywell,  a  little  parcel  was  handed  in  which 
proved  to  be  from  Eckermann,  at  Weimar.  It  made  me  glad  and 
sad.  There  was  a  medal  in  it,  struck  since  the  poet's  death.  Ot- 
tilic  had  sent  it  me.  Then  a  gilt  cream-colored  essay  on  Goethe's 
Praktinche  Wirksamkeitlny  oneF.  vonMiiller,  a  Weimer Kunstfreund 
and  intimate  of  deceased's,  with  an  inscription  on  it  by  him.  Final- 
ly, the  third  Heft  of  the  sixth  volume  of  '  Kunst  und  Alterthum,' 
which  had  partly  been  in  preparation,  and  now  posthumously  pro- 
duced itself ;  to  me  a  touching  kind  of  sight.  Eckermann  wrote  a 
very  kind  letter,  explaining  how  busy  he  was  with  redacting  the  fif- 
teenth volume  of  '  Nachgelassenen  Schriften,'  the  titles  of  all  which 
he  gave  me.  There  is  a  volume  of  '  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit, '  and  the 
completion  of  'Faust.'  These  are  the  most  remarkable.  I  have 
read  Muller's  essay,  which  is  sensible  enough — several  good  things 
also  are  in  the  Heft,  towards  the  last  page  of  which  I  came  upon 
these  words  (by  Miiller,  speaking  of  Goethe) :  '  Among  the  younger 
British,  Bulwer  and  Carlyle  very  especially  attract  him.  The  beau- 
tiful pure  disposition  of  the  last,  with  his  calm,  delicate  perceptive- 
ness,  raises  Goethe's  recognition  of  him  to  the  warmest  regard:'1 
This  of  liebewllste  Zuneigung  was  extremely  precious  to  me.  Alas! 
und  das  Alles  ist  hin.  Ottilie  promises  to  write,  but  I  think 
not. 

"And  now.  dear  Jack,  before  closing  let  us  cast  a  glance  towards 
Rome.  Your  two  last  letters  are  very  descriptive  of  your  house- 
hold ways,  and  give  us  all  much  satisfaction.  We  can  figure  you 
far  better  than  before.  Continue  to  send  the  like.  I  wish  you 
were  well  settled  for  the  winter.  There  seems  nothing  else  to  be 
wished  at  present.  I  can  understand  your  relation  to  your  patient 
to  be  a  delicate  one ;  but  you  appear  to  have  good  insight  into  it, 
and  to  be  of  the  most  promising  temper.  '  Geradheit,  IJrtheil  und 
Vertrar/tii'hkeit.'  I  miss  none  of  these  three;  they  make  in  all  cases 
a  noble  mixture.  Be  of  good  cheer,  in  omne  paratus  ;  you  will  re- 
turn home  to  us  a  much  more  productive  kind  of  character  than 
you  were;  learned,  equipped  in  many  ways,  with  all  that  is  worthy 
in  your  character  developed  into  action,  or  much  nearer  develop- 
ment. Be  diligent  in  business,  fervent  in  spirit.  What  is  all  our 
life,  and  all  its  ill-success  or  good  success,  that  we  should  fear  it? 
An  eternity  is  already  around  us.  Time  (wherein  is  the  disease  we 
call  Life)  will  soon  be  done,  and  then  !  Let  us  have  an  eye  on  that 
city  that  hath  foundations. 

"God  ever  bless  you,  dear  brother!  T.  CAKLYLE." 

1  "Untcr  den  jungern  Britten  ziehen  Bulwer  und  Carlyle  ihn  ganz  vorzuglich  an, 
und  das  Fchone  reinc  Xaturell  des  Ictztcrn,  seine  ruhigo  zartsinnigo  Auflassuugsgabe, 
steigern  Goethe's  Anerkennung  l>'s  zur  liebcvollsten  Zuneigung." 


188  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

A  letter  follows  from  Mrs.  Austin: 

•  To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Craigenputtock. 

"26  Park  Road,  London:  December  25, 1832. 

"  Dearest  Friend, — Writing  to  you,  which  ought  from  all  natural 
causes  to  be  one  of  my  greatest  and  dearest  pleasures,  is  become  a 
sort  of  dread  and  pain  and  oppression.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  no  means 
of  saying  anything  because  I  have  so  much  to  say;  because  I  would 
fain  tell  you  how  I  love  you  and  your  husband;  how  I  look  to  you 
as  objects  that  would  console  and  refresh  and  elevate  one  to  think 
of;  how  I  want  your  sympathy  and  approbation,  and  sometimes 
comfort;  because  I  have  endless  facts  to  tell  and  thoughts  to  com- 
municate, requisitions  to  ask — and  then — to  write  thus  seems  mock- 
ing myself  and  you.  A  quire  of  such  sheets  as  these  would  not 
hold  att  I  should  like  to  write.  But  my  business  is  not  to  do  as  I 
like;  and  you  and  he  will  not  think  the  worse  of  me  for  my  self- 
denial.  You  may  have  seen  somewhere  or  other  that  an  early  and 
long  toil  of  mine  is  finished;  a  selection  from  the  Old  Testament. 
If  I  knew  how  I  should  send  you  a  copy,  just  that  you  might 
see  that  I  work !  Mr.  Carlyle  wUl  think  that  worth  praise,  though 
there  be  many  defects  in  the  how.  Also  look,  if  by  any  chance  the 
New  Monthly  Magazine  comes  in  your  way,  for  an  article  entitled 
'On  the  Recent  Attempts  to  Revolutionize  Germany.'  I  translated 
from  a  journal  P.  Ptlcklers  sent  me,  with  commendation.  Other 
Germans  admire  it.  I  excite  horror  among  my  Radical  friends  for 
not  believing  that  all  salvation  comes  of  certain  organic  forms  of 
government;  and,  as  I  tell  Mrs.  Jeffrey,  am  that  monster  made  up 
'  of  all  we  Whigs  hate,'  a  Radical  and  an  Absolutist. 

"  Meantime  '  Falk '  goes  on.  Falk  eigentlich  has  long  been  done; 
but  matter  keeps  congregating  around  him.  Frau  von  Goethe  sent 
me,  by  Henry  Reeve,  '  Goethe  in  seiner  praktischen  Wirksamkeit, ' 
by  Von  Miiller,  Kanzler  of  Weimar.  She  sent  it  '  with  her  best 
love,'  and  with  the  assurance  that  He  was  just  about  to  write  to  me 
when  he  died — that  one  of  the  last  things  he  read  was  my  transla- 
tion, with  which  he  kindly  said  he  was  much  pleased.  You  will  be 
able  to  estimate  the  value  I  set  upon  this  faint  shadow  of  a  com- 
munication with  him. 

"  How  I  wish  Mr.  Carlyle  may  like — in  any  degree — what  I  have 
done.  And  then  you,  like  a  loyal  wife  as  you  are,  will  like  it  too. 
And  yet  it  is  nothing  but  compilation  and  translation — mere  drudg- 
ery. Well,  dearest  friend,  there  are  men  enough  and  women  enough 
to  dogmatize,  and  to  invent,  and  to  teach  and  preach  all  things, 
Political  Economy  included.  I  can  write  nothing,  and  teach  noth- 
ing; but  if  I  can  interpret  and  illustrate,  it  is  something;  and  I  have 
the  advantage  of  remaining,  what  a  remnant  of  womanly  super- 
stition about  me  makes  me  think  best  for  us — a  woman.  These  are 
'  auld-world  notions. '  You  know  that  word  in  my  vocabulary  ex- 
cludes no  particle  of  strength,  courage,  or  activity.  But  a  well- 
chosen  field  is  the  thing.  What  say  you? 

"My  husband  is  tolerably;  working  or  standing  against  the 
stream  of  washy  violence  which  inundates  us  all.  What  is  better, 
and  what  the  practical  many  dream  not  of,  he  is  ever  daily  and 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  189 

hourly  converting,  purifying,  elevating — himself;  for  which  small 
business  your  reformers  of  crowds  have  little  time  and  less  taste. 

"  Lucy  grows  a  tall,  fair  girl.  At  least,  people  call  her  handsome. 
She  is,  at  any  rate,  intelligent  and  simple,  and  strong,  and  not  like 
the  children  of  the  '  upper  classes. '  Mrs.  Bulwer  told  me  that  her 
little  girl  of  four  said,  in  answer  to  some  question  about  her  little 
cousins,  '  I  suppose  they  have  seen  by  the  papers  that  I  go  to  school.' 
Here  is  '  diffusion  of  knowledge '  with  a  vengeance,  and  matter  for 
the  excellent  Carlyle  to  moralize  upon,  auf  seine  Art  und  Weise. 
Would  I  were  there  to  hear.  Henry  Reeve  is  at  Munich,  and  greatly 
attached  to  Schelling,  who  is  quite  fatherly  to  him. 

' '  And  now  God  bless  you.  New  years  or  old  make  no  great  dif- 
ference in  my  wishes  for  you,  which  will  outlast  a  year  and,  I  trust, 
a  world.  Write  to  me,  my  dear  friend,  and  believe  that  my  affec- 
tion and  deep  esteem  are  not  the  feebler  for  my  want  of  time  to  tell 
of  them.  Yours, 

"S.  AUSTIN." 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A.D.  1833.     JET.  38. 
Extracts  from  Journal. 

"Edinburgh,  January  12, 1833. — Arrived  here  on  Monday  night 
last.  Nasty  fog;  ghastly  kind  of  light  and  silence  in  Dalveen  Pass; 
the  wearisome,  dreaming-awake  kind  of  day  I  always  have  in  state- 
coaches.  Mill's  letter  awaiting  me  here.  Village-like  impression 
of  Edinburgh  after  London.  People  are  all  kind;  I  languid,  bil- 
ious, not  very  open  to  kindness.  Dr.  Irving  advises  immediate 
application  for  a  certain  Glasgow  Astronomy  Professorship.  I 
shall  hardly  trouble  myself  with  it.  Deeply  impressed  with  the 
transiency  of  time ;  more  and  more  careless  about  all  that  time  can 
give  or  take  away.  Could  undertake  to  teach  astronomy,  as  soon 
as  most  things,  by  way  of  honest  day-labor:  not  otherwise,  for  I 
have  no  zeal  now  that  way.  To  teach  any  of  the  things  I  am  in- 
terested in  were  for  the  present  impossible;  all  is  unfixed,  nothing 
has  yet  grown;  at  best,  is  but  growing.  Thus,  too,  the  futility  of 
founding  universities  at  this  time :  the  only  university  you  can  ad- 
vantageously found  were  a  public  library.  This  is  never  out  of 
season ;  therefore  not  now,  when  all  else  in  that  kind  is. 

"Have  long  been  almost  idle;  have  long  been  out  of  free  com- 
munion with  myself.  Must  suffer  more  before  I  can  begin  thinking. 
Will  tiy  to  write:  but  what?  but  when?  On  the  whole,  what  a 
wretched  thing  is  all  fame !  A  renown  of  the  highest  sort  endures, 
say,  for  two  thousand  years.  And  then?  Why,  then,  a  fathomless 
eternity  swallows  it.  work  for  eternity:  not  the  meagre  rhetorical 
eternity  of  the  periodical  critics,  but  for  the  real  eternity,  wherein 
dwelleth  the  Divine !  Alas !  all  here  is  so  dark.  Keep  firm  in  thy 
eye  what  light  thou  hast. 

"Daily  and  hourly  the  world  natural  grows  more  of  a  world 
magical  to  me :  this  is  as  it  should  be.  Daily,  too,  I  see  that  there! 
is  no  true  poetry  but  in  reality.  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  poetkiu? 
Schwerlkh :  no  matter." 


190  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"I  have  long  been  almost  idle."  The  dark  mood  was  back  in 
Carlyle,  and  these  words  explain  it.  When  idle  he  was  miserable ; 
when  miserable  he  made  all  about  him  miserable.  At  such  times 
he  was  "  gey  ill  to  live  wi'  "  indeed. 

Sick  of  Craigenputtock,  sick  of  solitude,  sick  with  thoughts  of 
many  kinds  for  which  he  could  as  yet  find  no  proper  utterance, 
Carlyle  had  gone  to  Edinburgh  to  find  books  and  hear  the  sound  of 
human  voices.  Books  he  found  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  books  in 
plenty  upon  every  subject;  on  the  one  subject,  especially,  which 
had  now  hold  of  his  imagination.  The  French  Revolution  had 
long  interested  him,  as  illustrating  signally  his  own  conclusions  on 
the  Divine  government  of  the  world.  Since  he  had  written  upon 
Diderot,  that  tremendous  convulsion  had  risen  before  him  more  and 
more  vividly  as  a  portent  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  under- 
stand. He  had  read  Thiers's  history  lately. '  Mill,  who  had  been  a 
careful  student  of  the  Revolution,  furnished  him  with  memoirs, 
pamphlets,  and  newspapers.  But  these  only  increased  his  thirst. 

In  the  Advocates'  Library  at  Edinburgh  he  was  able  to  look  round 
his  subject,  and  examine  it  before  and  after;  to  look  especially  to 
scattered  spiritual  and  personal  phenomena ;  to  look  into  Mirabeau's 
life,  and  Danton's,  and  Madame  Roland's ;  among  side-pictures  to 
observe  Cagliostro's  history,  and  as  growing  but  of  it  the  melo- 
drama of  the  Diamond  Necklace.  All  this  Carlyle  devoured 
with  voracity,  and  the  winter  so  spent  in  Edinburgh  was  of  im- 
measurable moment  to  him.  Under  other  aspects,  the  place  Avas  un- 
fortunately less  agreeable  than  he  had  expected  to  find  it.  In  his 
choice  of  a  future  residence,  he  had  been  hesitating  between  London 
and  Edinburgh.  In  his  choice  of  a  subject  on  which  to  write,  he 
had  been  doubting  between  "  The  French  Revolution"  and  "  John 
Knox  and  the  Scotch  Reformation."  On  both  these  points  a  few 
weeks'  experience  of  the  modern  Athens  decided  him.  Edinburgh 
society  was  not  to  his  mind.  He  discerned,  probably,  not  for  the 
first  time  in  human  history,  that  a  prophet  is  not  readily  acknowl- 
edged in  his  own  country.  No  circle  of  disciples  gathered  round  him 
as  they  had  done  in  Ampton  Street.  His  lodgings  proved  inconven- 
ient, and  even  worse.  Neither  he  nor  his  wife  could  sleep  for  the 
watchman  telling  the  hours  in  the  street.  When  they  moved  into  a 
back  room,  they  were  disturbed  by  noises  overhead.  A  woman,  it  ap- 
peared, of  the  worst  character,  was  nightly  entertaining  her  friends 
there.  They  could  do  with  little  money  in  Craigenputtock ;  life  in  Ed- 
inburgh, even  on  humble  terms,  was  expensive.  Napier  was  remiss 
in  his  payments  for  the  articles  in  the  Edinburgh  Review.  He  was 

« Carlyle  once  gave  me  a  characteristic  criticism  of  Thiers.  It  was  brief  "Dig 
where  you  will,"  he  said,  "you  co:ne  to  water." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  191 

generally  six  months  in  arrear.  He  paid  only  after  repeated  dun- 
ning, and  then  on  a  scale  of  growing  illiberality.  These,  however, 
were  minor  evils,  and  might  have  been  endured.  They  had  gone 
up  with  light  hearts,  in  evident  hope  that  they  would  find  Edin- 
burgh an  agreeable  change  from  the  moors.  Carlyle  himself  thought 
that,  with  his  increasing  reputation,  his  own  country  would  now, 
perhaps,  do  something  for  him.  His  first  letter  to  his  brother,  after 
his  arrival,  was  written  in  his  usual  spirits. 

"By  Heaven's  grace  [he  said]  I  nowise  want  merchants  of  a  sort 
for  my  wares ;  and  can  still,  even  in  these  days,  live.  So  long  as  that 
is  granted,  what  more  is  there  to  ask?  All  gigmanity  is  of  the  Devil, 
devilish :  let  us  rather  be  thankful  if  we  are  shut  out  even  from  the 
temptation  thereto.  It  is  not  want  of  money,  or  money's  worth, 
that  I  could  ever  complain  of;  nay,  often  too  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I 
did  best  when  no  praise  was  given  me,  and  I  stood  alone  between 
the  two  eternities  with  my  feet  on  the  rock.  But  what  I  mourn 
over  is  the  too  frequent  obscuration  of  faith  within  me;  the  kind 
of  exile  I  must  live  in  from  all  classes  of  articulate-speaking  men; 
the  dimness  that  reigns  over  all  my  practical  sphere;  the  etc.,  etc., 
for  there  is  no  end  to  man's  complaining.  One  thing  I  have  as 
good  as  ascertained:  that  Craigenputtock  cannot  forever  be  my 
place  of  abode;  that  it  is  at  present,  and  actually,  one  of  the  worst 
abodes  for  me  in  the  whole  wide  world.  One  day  I  will  quit  it, 
either  quietly  or  like  a  muir-break ;  for  I  feel  well  there  are  things 
in  me  to  be  told  which  may  cause  the  ears  that  hear  them  to  tingle  ! 
Alles  mit  Mass  und  Hegel  f  As  yet  I  decide  on  nothing:  will  no- 
wise desert  the  whinstone  stronghold  till  I  better  see  some  road 
from  it.  I  could  live  again  in  Edinburgh,  perhaps  still  more  will- 
ingly in  London,  had  I  means.  My  good  wife  is  ready  for  all  things, 
so  we  wait  what  the  days  bring  forth.  Perhaps  the  future  may 
be  kinder  to  us  both;  but  is  not  the  present  kind?  Full  of  work  to 
do?  Write  me  all  things,  my  dear  brother,  and  fear  not  that  you 
shall  ever  want  my  sympathy.  Keep  diligent  in  business,  fervent 
in  spirit,  serving  God;  that  is  the  sum  of  all  wisdom." 

For  the  first  week  or  two  Edinburgh  itself  was  not  disagreeable. 
"  The  transition  was  singular  from  the  bare  solitary  moors  to  crowd- 
ed streets  and  the  concourse  of  men."  The  streets  themselves  were 
"orderly  and  airy."  "The  reek  of  Auld  Reekie  herself  was  the 
clearness  of  mountain  -  tops  compared  to  the  horrible  vapors  of 
London."  Friends  came  about  them,  Jeffrey,  Sir  William  Hamil- 
ton, Harry  Inglis,  and  many  more,  all  kind  and  courteous ;  but  their 
way  of  thinking  was  not  Carlyle's  way  of  thinking,  "  the  things 
they  were  running  the  race  for  were  no  prizes  for  him,"  and  "he 
felt  a  stranger  among  them."  "When  he  gave  voice,"  "they 
stared  at  him."  "When  they  had  the  word,"  he  said,  "he  lis- 
tened with  a  sigh  or  a  smile."1  Then  came  another  disappoint- 

1  Gibbon's  expression. 


192  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CABLYLE. 

ment.  A  professorship  at  Glasgow  was  vacant.  Jeffrey,  as  Lord- 
advocate,  had  the  appointment,  or  a  power  of  recommending  which 
would  be  as  emphatic  as  a  conge  d'elire.  Carlyle  gave  Jeffrey  a 
hint  about  it,  but  Jeffrey  left  for  London  directly  after,  and  Carlyle 
instinctively  felt  that  he  was  not  to  have  it.  "  My  own  private  im- 
pression," he  said,  "  is  that  I  shall  never  get  any  promotion  in  this 
world,  and  happy  shall  I  be  if  Providence  enable  me  only  to  stand 
my  own  friend.  That  is,  or  should  be,  all  the  prayer  I  offer  to 
Heaven." 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"February  1, 1833. — Have  been  exploring  on  all  hands  the  foolish 
history  of  the  quack  Cagliostro.  Have  read  several  books  about 
him,  searching  far  and  wide  after  him;  learned,  I  ought  to  admit, 
almost  nothing.  Shall  I  study  this  enigma,  then  write  my  solution 
or  no-solution. 

"Am  quite  bewildered,  deroute,  know  not  whither  to  address  the 
little  energy  I  have;  sick,  too,  and  on  the  whole  solitary,  though 
with  men  enough  about  me.  Sir  William  Hamilton,  the  one  that 
approaches  nearest  being  earnest:  he,  too,  does  not  attain  earnest- 
ness, and  his  faculty  is  not  of  the  instructive  kind.  '  Help  thyself; 
heaven  will  help  thee  !' 

"The  Advocate  is  gone:  to  join  the  new  Reformed  Parliament, 
where  may  he  prosper !  Our  relation  is  done,  all  but  the  outward 
shell  of  it,  which  may  stick  there  as  long  as  it  can.  Respectability 
and  Fate-warfare  march  not  long  on  one  road.  All  is  whiggery 
here,  which  means  '  I  will  believe  whatsoever  I  shall  be  forced  to 
believe.'  In  this  country,  as  in  France,  the  main  movement  will 
come  from  the  capital.  Perhaps  it  may  be  sooner  than  one  expects. 
The  pressure  of  economical  difficulty  is  rapidly  augmenting;  misery 
of  that  and  all  kinds  is  prevalent  enough  here ;  everything  wears  an 
uneasy,  decaying  aspect,  yet  far  short  of  what  strikes  one  in  London. 
A  sorrowful,  poor,  unproductive  struggle,  which  nevertheless  this 
age  was  fated  and  bound  to  undertake.  On  with  it,  then  ! 

"Wilson  I  have  not  seen.  Is  he  afflicted  with  my  Radicalism? 
Is  he  simply  too  lazy  to  call  on  me,  or  indisposed  to  take  the  trou- 
ble of  etiquette  upon  him,  for  object  so  little  momentous?  Shall  I 
stand  on  etiquette  then?  It  is  of  small  consequence,  though  per- 
haps the  issue  will  be  that  we  stand  not  only  apart,  but  divided, 
which  I  have  no  wish  to  do.  Moir  has  been  here;  in  all  senses  a 
neat  man,  in  none  a  strong  one.  Great  stupidity  reigns  here,  I 
think;  but  what  then?  Grow  thou  wiser!  Brewster  has  lost  his 
canvass  for  Leslie's  professorship,  and  is  about  entering  the  English 
Church,  they  say,  being  promised  a  living.  '  Once  a  noble  soap  bell, 
now  a  drop  of  sour  suds.'  Such  is  the  history  of  many  men." 

"  The  bitter  old  Hebrew  implacability  of  that  couplet — 

'  On  those  that  do  me  hate 
I  my  desire  shall  see.' 

One  day  they  will  be  even  as  /  wish  them  !    Envy  no  man,  for  such, 
sooner  or  later,  will  be  his  hard  fortune.     Nay,  in  any  case  does  he 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  193 

not  at  last  die !  One  of  my  best  moods  (many  are  too  bad)  is  that  of 
sincere  pity  for  all  breathing  men.  Oftenest  it  is  a  sincere  indiffer- 
ence. Yesterday  it  seemed  to  me  death  was  actually  a  cheerful- 
looking  thing:  such  a  boundless  possibility ;  no  longer  hampered  by 
the  so  strait  limits  of  this  world's  time  and  space.  Oh  for  faith! 
Truly,  the  greatest  '  God-announcing  miracle '  always  is  faith,  and 
now  more  than  ever.  I  often  look  on  my  mother  (nearly  the  only 
genuine  Believer  I  know  of)  with  a  kind  of  sacred  admiration. 
Know  the  worth  of  Belief.  Alas !  canst  thou  acquire  none? 

"  That  the  Supernatural  differs  from  the  Natural  is  a  great  Truth, 
which  the  last  century  (especially  in  France)  has  been  engaged  in 
demonstrating.  The  Philosophers  went  far  wrong,  however,  in 
this,  that,  instead  of  raising  the  natural  to  the  supernatural,  they 
strove  to  sink  the  supernatural  to  the  natural.  The  gist  of  my 
whole  way  of  thought  is  to  do  not  the  latter,  but  the  former.  I  feel 
it  to  be  the  epitome  of  much  good  for  this  and  following  generations 
in  my  hands  and  in  those  of  innumerable  stronger  ones.  Belief,  said 
one  the  other  night,  has  done  immense  evil:  witness  Knipperdolling 
and  the  Anabaptists,  etc.  'True,'  rejoined  I,  with  vehemence,  al- 
most with  fury  (Proh  pudor  /)^-'  true  belief  has  done  some  evil  in 
the  world;  but  it  has  done  all  the  good  that  was  ever  done  in  it; 
from  the  time  when  Moses  saw  the  Burning  Bush  and  believed  it  to 
be  God  appointing  him  deliverer  of  His  people,  down  to  the  last 
act  of  belief  that  you  and  I  executed.  Good  never  came  from 
aught  else. ' " 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"Edinburgh:  February  10. 

"I  have  not  been  idle  during  the  last  month,  though  not  employed 
in  the  way  I  most  approve  of.  Since  the  article  'Diderot,' written 
in  October,  I  have  never  put  pen  to  paper  till  last  week,  when  I  be- 
gan a  piece  for  Fraser  to  be  entitled  'Cagliostro.'  I  had  found 
some  books  about  that  quack  here:  it  will  take  me  about  three 
weeks  and  do  well  enough  as  a  parergon.  A  new  fluctuation  has 
come  over  my  mode  of  publication  lately;  so  that  the  things  most  at 
heart  with  me  must  lie  in  abeyance  for  some  time.  It  begins  to  be 
presumable  that  the  Edinburgh  Review  can  no  longer  be  my  vehicle, 
for  this  reason,  were  there  no  others,  that  Napier  is  among  the  worst 
of  payers.  What  the  poor  man  means  I  know  not;  most  likely  he 
is  in  utter  want  of  cash;  but  at  any  rate  he  needs  to  be  twice  dunned 
before  money  will  come  from  him;  and  at  present  owes  me  some 
3(M.,  for  which  a  third  dunning  will  be  requisite.  This,  then,  sim- 
ply will  not  do ;  I  will  look  elsewhere,  take  new  measures,  as  indeed 
solidity  or  permanence  of  any  kind  in  authorship  is  at  this  time  not 
to  be  looked  for.  Your  foundation  is  like  that  of  a  man  support- 
ing himself  in  bog-lakes  on  floating  sheaves  or  sods.  The  massiest 
will  sink  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  you  must  look  out  for  new. 
Fraser,  whose  magazine  I  call  the  mud  one  (in  contradistinction  to 
Tail's,  or  the  Sahara-sand  one),  is  very  fond  of  me,  and  at  bottom  an 
honest  creature.  Tait  also  would  be  glad  to  employ  me,  as  poor 
Cochrane  is.  ...  On  the  whole,  we  shall  find  means.  .  .  .  Meanwhile 
I  have  been  reading  violently,  about  the  Scotch  Kirk,  in  Knox 
and  others;  about  the  Frencli  Revolution,  in  Thiers,  which  Mill 

II.— 9 


194  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

sent  me;  about  the  Diamond  Necklace,  the  Greek  Revolt,  and  what 
not.  I  read  with  the  appetite  of  one  long  starved;  am  oftenest  of 
all  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  and  dig,  not  without  result,  there.  My 
head  is  never  empty;  neither  is  my  heart,  though  the  contents  of 
both  are  by  times  rugged  enough.  They  must  even  be  elaborated, 
made  smooth  and  sweet.  I  could  write  whole  volumes,  were  there 
any  outlet:  and  will  (if  God  spare  me)  both  write  them  and  find  an 
outlet.  These  books,  I  fancy,  will  be  one  of  our  main  conquests  in 
Edinburgh.  As  to  the  men  here,  they  are  beautiful  to  look  upon 
after  mere  black-faced  sheep;  yet  not  persons  of  whom  instruction 
or  special  edification  in  any  way  is  to  be  expected.  From  a  High- 
lander you  once  for  all  cannot  get  breeches.  Sir  William  Hamilton 
is  almost  the  only  earnest  character  I  find  in  this  city:  we  take 
somewhat  to  each  other;  meet  sometimes  with  mutual  satisfaction, 
always  with  good-will. 

"George  Moir  has  got  a  house  in  Northumberland  Street,  a  wife, 
too,  and  infants;  is  become  a  Conservative,  settled  everywhere  into 
dilettante;  not  very  happy,  I  think;  dry,  civil,  and  seems  to  feel 
unheimlich  in  my  company.  Aus  dem  wird  NicJits.  Weir  has  be- 
come a  Radical  spouter,  and  they  say  is  gone,  or  going,  to  Glasgow 
to  start  as  'able  editor.'  Did  I  tell  you,  by  the  way,  that  London 
Spectator  Douglas  had  come  to  Dumfries  in  that  capacity,  and 
was  weekly  emitting  a  Radical  Dumfries  Times  there?  A  com- 
pany of  malcontent  writers  and  others  had  made  a  point-stock  for 
that  end ;  it  is  feared  unsuccessfully.  John  Gordon  is  true  as  steel 
to  his  old  loves;  otherwise  a  rather  somnolent  man;  we  see  him 
pretty  often.  He  has  got  appointed  college  clerk  (or  some  such 
thing),  and  has  now  300?.  a  year  and  is  happy  enough.  Mitchell 
is  quiet,  in  very  poor  health,  yet  cheerful,  hopeful  even,  a  re- 
spectable schoolmaster  now  and  henceforth.  I  saw  a  large  didac- 
tic company  at  dinner  with  him  yesterday  (for  nothing  else  would 
satisfy  him),  and  astonished  them,  I  fear,  with  my  exposition  of 
belief  and  Radicalism,  as  compared  with  opinion  and  Whiggism. 
There  was  an  'old  stager, 'a  Doctor  Brown,  travelling  tutor,  college 
lecturer,  statist,  geologist,  spiritual  scratcher  and  scraper  in  all 
senses:  a  cold,  sharp,  hard,  unmalleable  '  logic-chopper,'  good  to  be- 
hold— at  rare  intervals.  There  was  also  an  advocate,  Semple,  an 
overfoaming  Kantist,  the  best-natured  and  liveliest  of  all  small  men ; 
a  very  bottle  of  champagne  (or  soda-water)  uncorked:  we  did  well 
enough. 

"  The  Advocate  came  jigging  up  to  us  very  often,  but  is  now  gone 
to  London.  He  asked  kindly  for  you,  and  desired  to  be  kindly  re- 
membered to  his  'old  friend  the  Doctor.'  I  dined  with  him  once 
(Jane  could  not  go).  Napier  (besides  his  being  '  forever  in  the  small 
debt  court!')  is  a  man  of  wooden  structure,  limited  in  all  ways.  I 
do  not  dislike  him,  but  feel  I  can  get  no  good  of  him.  Wilson,  who 
is  said  to  be  grown  far  quieter  in  his  habits,  has  only  come  athwart 
me  once.  He  too,  lion  as  he  is,  cannot  look  at  me  as  1  look  at  him 
with  free  regard,  but  eyes  me  from  behind  veils,  doubtful  of  some 
mischance  from  me,  political  or  other.  I  suppose  I  shall  see  little  of 
him,  and  at  bottom  need  not  care. 

"As  to  our  special  Befinden,  we  are  quite  peaceable,  content,  for 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  195 

the  present ;  though  both  of  us  have  a  dirty  underfoot  kind  of  catarrh 
for  the  last  three  weeks,  whereby  Jane  in  particular  suffers  consider- 
able— vexation  rather  than  pain.  Otherwise  she  is  at  least  not  worse. 
We  go  out  not  often,  yet  oftener  than  we  wish ;  have  society  enough, 
the  best  the  ground  yields:  the  time  for  returning  to  Puttock  will 
too  soon  be  here.  I  have  not  abated  in  my  dislike  for  that  residence, 
in  my  conviction  that  it  is  no  longer  good  for  me.  Of  solitude  I 
have  really  had  enough.  You  would  be  surprised,  I  am  much  sur- 
prised myself,  at  the  wondrous  figure  I  often  make  when  I  rejoin  my 
fellow-creatures.  The  talent  of  conversation,  though  I  generally 
talk  enough  and  to  spare,  has,  as  it  were,  quite  forsaken  me.  In 
place  of  skilful,  adroit  fencing  and  parrying,  as  was  fit  and  usual,  I 
appear  like  a  wild,  monstrous  Orson  amongst  the  people,  and  (espe- 
cially if  bilious)  smash  everything  to  pieces.  The  very  sound  of  my 
voice  has  got  something  savage-prophetic.  I  am  as  a  John  Baptist 
girt  about  with  a  leathern  girdle,  and  whose  food  is  locusts  and  wild 
honey.  One  must  civilize ;  it  is  really  quite  essential.  Here,  too,  as 
in  all  things,  practice  alone  can  teach.  However,  we  will  wait  and 
watch,  and  do  nothing  rashly.  Time  and  chance  happen  unto  all 
men. 

"When  you  return  to  London  you  must  see  Mill;  he  is  growing 
quite  a  believer,  mystuch  gesinnt,  yet  with  all  his  old  utilitarian  logic 
quite  alive  in  him;  a  remarkable  sort  of  man,  faithful,  one  of  the 
f aithf ullest  (yet  with  so  much  calmness)  in  these  parts. " 

Carlyle,  it  will  have  been  observed,  had  for  some  time  spoken 
cheerfully  of  his  wife,  as  not  well,  but  as  better  than  she  had  been. 
He  observed  nothing,  as  through  his  life  he  never  did  observe  any- 
thing, about  her  which  called  away  his  attention  from  his  work  and 
from  what  was  round  him.  A  characteristic  postscript  in  her  own 
hand  gives  a  sadly  different  picture  of  her  condition: 

"My  dear  John, — If  I  kept  my  word  no  better  in  my  daily  walk 
and  conversation  than  I  do  in  this  matter  of  writing,  I  should  deserve 
to  be  forthwith  drummed  out  of  creation,  but  I  beg  you  to  believe  my 
failure  here  an  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

"In  truth,  I  am  always  so  sick  now,  and  so  heartless,  that  I  cannot 
apply  myself  to  any  mental  effort  without  a  push  from  necessity ; 
and  as  I  get  the  benefit  of  your  letters  to  Carlyle,  and  see  how  faith- 
fully he  pays  you  back,  I  always  persuade  myself  when  the  time 
comes  that  there  is  no  call  on  me  to  strike  into  the  correspondence. 
But  I  assure  you  my  silence  has  nothing  to  do  with  indifference.  I 
watch  your  thun  und  lassen  with  true  and  sisterly  interest,  and  rejoice 
with  my  husband  to  see  you  in  so  hopeful  a  course.  Every  one  gets 
the  start  of  poor  me.  Indeed,  for  the  last  year  I  have  not  made  an 
inch  of  way,  but  have  sat  whimpering  on  a  milestone  lamenting  over 
the  roughness  of  the  road.  If  you  would  come  home  and  set  my 
'  interior '  to  rights,  it  would  wonderfully  facilitate  the  problem  of 
living.  But,  perhaps,  it  is  best  for  me  that  it  should  not  be  made 
easier." 

Edinburgh  society  pleased  less  the  longer  the  Carlyles  stayed. 


196  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

The  fault  partially,  perhaps,  was  in  Carlyle's  own  spiritual  palate, 
which  neither  that  nor  anything  was  likely  to  please. 

"As  for  the  people  here  [he  tells  his  mother  at  the  beginning  of 
March],  they  are  very  kind,  and  would  give  us  three  dinners  for  one 
that  we  can  eat ;  otherwise,  I  must  admit  them  to  be  rather  a  barren 
set  of  men.  The  spirit  of  Mammon  rules  all  their  world — Whig, 
Tory,  Radical.  All  are  alike  of  the  earth,  earthy.  They  look  upon 
me  as  a  strong,  well-intending,  utterly  misguided  man,  who  must 
needs  run  his  head  against  posts.  They  are  very  right.  I  shall 
never  make  any  fortune  in  the  world ;  unless  it  were  that  highest  of 
all  conceivable  fortunes,  the  fortune  to  do,  in  some  smallest  degree, 
my  All-wise  Taskmaster's  bidding  here.  May  He,  of  His  great 
grace,  enable  me !  I  offer  up  no  other  prayer.  Are  not  my  days 
numbered:  a  span's  thrift  in  the  sea  of  eternity?  Fool  is  he  who 
would  speak  lies  or  act  lies,  for  the  better  or  worse  that  can  befall 
him  for  that  least  of  little  whiles.  I  say,  therefore,  lie  away,  worthy 
brethren ;  lie  to  all  lengths,  be  promoted  to  all  lengths ;  but  as  for 
me  and  my  house,  we  will  not  lie  at  all.  Again  I  say,  God  enable 
us  !  and  so  there  it  rests.  Ought  not  my  father's  and  my  mother's 
son  to  speak  even  so?" 

A  few  days  later  he  writes  to  his  brother  Alick : 

"Edinburgh  continues  one  of  the  dullest  and  poorest,  and,  on  the 
whole,  paltriest,  of  places  for  me.  I  cannot  remember  that  I  have 
heard  one  sentence  with  true  meaning  in  it  uttered  since  I  came 
hither.  The  very  power  of  thought  seems  to  have  forsaken  this 
Athenian  city;  at  least,  a  more  entirely  shallow,  barren,  unfruitful, 
and  trivial  set  of  persons  than  those  I  meet  with,  never,  that  I  re- 
member, came  across  my  bodily  vision.  One  has  no  right  to  be 
angry  with  them ;  poor  fellows,  far  from  it !  Yet  does  it  remain  ev- 
ident that  '  Carlyle  is  wasting  his  considerable  talents  on  impossibil- 
ities, and  can  never  do  any  good?'  Time  will  show.  For  the  pres- 
ent, poor  man,  he  is  quite  fixed  to  try.  ...  At  any  rate,  there  are 
some  good  books  here  that  one  can  borrow  and  read;  kindly  dis- 
posed human  creatures,  too,  who,  though  they  cannot  without  a 
shudder  see  one  spit  in  the  Devil's  face  so,  yet  wish  one  well,  almost 
love  one." 

To  Mill,  also,  he  had  written  a  letter  full  of  discontent,  and  look- 
ing, in  the  absence  of  comfort  in  Edinburgh  society  about  him,  for 
sympathy  from  his  friend.  But  Mill  rather  needed  comfort  for  him- 
self than  was  in  a  situation  to  console  others.  He,  like  many  others, 
had  expected  that  the  Reform  Bill  would  bring  the  Millennium,  and 
the  Millennium  was  as  far  off  as  ever. 

To  his  mother,  whatever  his  humor,  Carlyle  wrote  regularly.  To 
her,  more  than  even  to  his  brother,  he  showed  his  real  heart.  She 
was  never  satisfied  without  knowing  the  smallest  incidents  of  his 
life  and  occupation ;  and  he,  on  his  part,  was  on  the  watch  for  op- 
portunities to  give  her  pleasure.  He  had  sent  her  from  Edinburgh 
a  copy  of  "Thomas  d  Kempis,"  with  an  introduction  by  Chalmers. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  197 

The  introduction  he  considered  "wholly,  or  in  great  part,  a  dud." 
Of  the  book  itself  he  says,  "  None,  I  believe,  except  the  Bible,  has 
been  so  universally  read  and  loved  by  Christians  of  all  tongues  and 
sects.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  think  that  the  Christian  heart  of  my 
good  mother  may  also  derive  nourishment  and  strengthening  from 
what  has  already  nourished  and  strengthened  so  many."  In  Edin- 
burgh he  described  himself  as  at  home,  yet  not  at  home ;  unable  to 
gather  out  of  the  place  or  its  inhabitants  the  sustenance  which  he 
had  looked  for. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Edinburgh:  February  13, 1S33. 

"From  the  first  the  appearance  of  the  place,  as  contrasted  with 
the  boiling  uproar  of  London,  has  seemed  almost  stagnant  to  us. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  getting  yourself  properly  elbowed  in  a 
'flood  of  life.'  The  noise,  too  (except  that  of  the  watchmen  while 
we  slept  in  a  front  room),  is  quite  trifling  and  inadequate  !  As  for 
the  people,  they  are  now,  as  formerly,  all  of  one  sort :  meet  twenty 
of  them  in  a  day,  they  are  all  most  probably  talking  of  the  same 
subject;  and  that  mostly  an  insignificant  one,  and  handled  in  an  in- 
significant way.  And  yet,  poor  fellows,  how  are  they  to  be  blamed? 
It  is  'more  their  misfortune  than  their  crime.'  What  sense  is  in 
them  they  no  doubt  honestly  exhibit.  Some  cheering  exceptions, 
too,  one  now  and  then  falls  in  with ;  indeed,  for  my  own  small  share, 
I  can  nowise  complain  that  honest  sympathy,  even  love,  and  respect 
far  beyond  desert,  is  withheld  from  me  here.  This  I  receive  with 
the  greater  clearness  of  appreciation  that  (hardened  by  long  custom) 
I  had  from  of  old  learned  to  do  without  it.  Nevertheless,  that  also  is 
a  mercy,  and  should  be  thankfully  made  use  of.  I  think  I  have 
seen  few  people  of  note  since  I  last  wrote.  I  met  Wilson  in  the 
street  one  day,  and  exchanged  civilities  with  him.  He  is  looking  a 
little  older;  was  wrapped  in  a  cloak  for  cold,  and  undertook  to  come 
and  talk  at  home  with  me,  'if  I  would  allow  him,'  the  very  first  day 
he  had  leisure.  I  am  glad  we  met,  since  now  there  need  be  no  awk- 
wardness or  grudge  between  us:  whether  we  meet  a  second  time 
or  not  is  of  little  or  no  moment.  Henry  Inglis  has  had  my  book 
reading,1  and  returns  it  with  a  most  ecstatic  exaggerated  letter; 
wherein  this  is  comfortable,  that  he  has  seized  the  drift  of  the  specu- 
lation, and  can,  if  he  pleases,  lay  it  to  heart.  There  are,  perhaps, 
many  such  in  this  island  whom  it  may  profit ;  so  that  I  stand  by  the 
old  resolution  to  print  at  my  own  risk  so  soon  as  I  have  QQl.  to  spare, 
but  not  till  then.  Meanwhile,  my  dear  mother,  I  beg  you  again  and 
again  to  take  care  of  yourself;  especially  in  this  wild,  gusty  Febru- 
ary weather.  Consider  your  welfare  not  as  your  own,  but  as  that 
of  others,  to  whom  it  is  precious  beyond  price.  I  hope  they  are  all 
kind,  submissive,  and  helpful  to  you :  it  well  beseems  them  and  me. 
Forgive  them  if  any  of  them  offend;  for  I  know  well  no  offence  is 
intended:  it  is  but  the  sinful  infirmity  of  nature,  wherein  mortals 
should  bear  with  one  another.  Oh!  ought  we  not  to  live  in  mutual 

>  "Sartor"  in  MS. 


198  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

love  and  unity,  as  a  thing  seemly  for  men,  pleasing  in  the  sight  of 
God!  We  shall  so  soon  be  parted,  and  then,  Happy  is  he  who  has 
forgiven  much. " 

From  the  Journal. 

"  Friday,  15th  (March?). — Beautiful  spring  day;  the  season  of 
hope!  My  scribble  prospering  very  ill.  Persevere,  and  thou  wilt  im- 
prove. Sir  Wm.  Hamilton's  supper  (three  nights  ago)  has  done  me 
mischief  ;  will  hardly  go  to  another.  Wordsworth  talked  of  then; 
(by  Captain  T.  Hamilton,  his  neighbor).  Represented  verisimilar!  y 
enough  as  a  man  full  of  English  prejudices,  idle,  alternately  gossip- 
ing to  enormous  lengths,  and  talking,  at  rare  intervals,  high  wisdom  ; 
on  the  whole,  endeavoring  to  make  out  a  plausible  life  of  Jiti/f/irxx 
in  the  Tory  way,  as  so  many  on  all  sides  do.  Am  to  see  him  if  I 
please  to  go  thither ;  would  go  but  a  shortish  way  for  that  end. 

"The  brevity  of  life;  the  frightful  voracity  of  Time!  This  is  no 
fancy ;  it  is  a  wondrous  unfathomable  reality,  and  daily  grows  more 
wondrous  to  me.  '  Poor  is  what  my  lord  doth  say;'  let  him  to  work 
then. 

"Beautiful  that  /,  here  and  now,  am  alive!  Beautiful  to  see  so 
many  incorporated  spirits,  all  six  feet  high  (as  in  the  oldest  heroic 
ages),  all  full  of  force,  passion,  impetuosity,  mystery,  as  at  the  first. 
'The  young  new  blood!'  it  flows  and  flows;  the  spirit  host  marches 
unweariedly  on — whither?" 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

'•March  10,  1833. 

"  I  have  begun  a  kind  of  scribblement.  It  is  for  Fraser;  a  fool- 
ish story  about  a  certain  Italian  '  King  of  Quacks, '  whom  I  have  long 
been  curious  about,  and  am  now  going  to  make  known  to  all  the 
world — for  some  forty  guineas,  if  I  can  get  them.  You  will  see  it 
in  time.  The  long  piece  I  did  on  the  Frenchman  in  summer  came 
to  be  corrected  very  lately.  It  also  will  soon  be  out,  and  I  hope  it 
will  give  satisfaction  at  Scotsbrig.  I  have  plenty  of  other  things  to 
write;  but  should  now  rather  lay  myself  out  for  getting  books  and 
materials.  Craigenputtock  is  the  place  for  writing.  This  same 
'  King  of  Quacks '  ought  to  pay  our  expenses  here  and  back  again. 
I  am  growing  little  richer,  yet  also  no  poorer.  The  book  can  hardly 
be  printed  this  season,  but  one  ought  to  be  content.  I  really  am 
rather  content ;  the  rather  as  I  do  not  imagine  there  is  any  completer 
antigigman  extant  in  the  whole  world  at  present. 

"Among  the  new  figures  I  have  seen,  none  attracts  me  in  any 
measure  except  perhaps  Knox's  Dr.  McCrie,  whom  I  mean  (as  he 
rather  pressingly  invited  me)  to  go  and  call  on,  were  I  a  little  at  lei- 
sure. A  broad,  large,  stiff-backed,  stalking  kind  of  man,  dull.heavy, 
but  intelligent  and  honest.  We  spoke  a  little  about  Scotch  worthies 
and  martyrs,  and  I  mean  to  ask  him  more.  My  notion  of  writing 
a  book  on  that  subject  rather  grows  than  decays. 

"  If  I  tell  you  that  our  health  is  very  much  what  it  was  (the  old 
doctor  still  coming  about  Jane,  but  professing  his  inability  to  help 
her  much),  I  think  there  is  a  very  copious  picture  of  our  condition 
here.  As  for  you,  my  dear  mother,  Alick  would  persuade  me  that 
you  are  in  the  usual  way,  '  resigned  wonderfully,  and  even  content- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  199 

cd.  .  .  . '  He  says,  '  it  is  only  after  having  had  something  to  do 
with  this  world  that  we  can  learn  rightly  to  love  and  reverence  such 
a  life  as  hers.'  Be  resigned,  my  dear  mother.  '  Still  trust  in  God.' 
lie  will  not  leave  us  nor  forsake  us,  not  in  death  itself,  nor  iu  aught 
that  lies  between  us  and  death.  On  our  love,  moreover,  count  al- 
ways, as  on  a  thing  yours  by  good  right.  The  longer  I  live,  the 
more  I  feel  how  good  is  your  right.  Let  us  hope,  then,  to  find  you 
well  in  the  early  days  of  Way,  if  not  sooner;  once  again  in  this  Pil- 
grimage to  meet  in  peace.  Might  we  but  meet  in  peace  where  there 
is  parting  no  more !  This  also,  if  it  be  for  good,  will  be  provided  us. 
God  is  great.  God  is  good." 

"Jfarch  26. — I  have  finished  my  paper  on  the  '  Quack  of  Quacks,' 
but  got  no  new  one  fallen  to,  the  house  being  in  a  kind  of  racket  for 
the  present.  Mrs.  Welsh  is  here,  and  Miss  Helen  Welsh  from  Liv- 
erpool; and  though,  if  I  determine  on  it,  I  can  have  my  own  fire  and 
room,  and  bolt  it  against  all  people,  it  seems  not  worth  while  at  pres- 
ent, for  I  am  better  resting.  I  had  made  myself  bilious  enough  witli 
my  writing,  and  had  need  to  recover  as  I  am  doing. 

"As  for  my  own  dame,  she  agrees  but  indifferently  with  these 
wild  March  winds;  as  I  fear  my  mother  does  too.  The  advice  I  will 
always  reiterate  is,  take  care  of  yourself,  dear  mother.  Such  splash- 
ing and  sleeting,  with  bright  deceitful  sun-blinks,  and  the  firm,  nip- 
ping north  wind,  need  in  all  ways  to  be  guarded  against. 

"Napier  has  been  obliged  (by  dunning)  to  pay  me  my  money;  he 
has  paid  rather  stintedly,  but  it  will  do.  We  are  to  dine  with  him 
on  Friday.  My  writing  for  him  is  probably  over. 

"Did  Alick  show  you  Irving's  speech  at  the  Annan  Presbytery? 
I  read  it  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and  deep  pain;  the  man  is  of 
such  heroic  temper,  and  of  head  so  distracted.  The  whole  matter 
looked  to  me  like  a  horrid  kind  of  merry-andrew  tragedy.  Poor 
Dow,  I  think,  will  end  in  a  madhouse.  Irving  will  end  one  cannot 
prophesy  how :  he  must  go  from  wild  to  wilder.  This  is  the  issue 
of  what  once  appeared  the  highest  blessing  for  him — Popularity!" 

Lady  Clare  was  returning  to  England  for  the  summer.  John  Car- 
lyle  was  coming  with  her,  and  the  family  were  looking  eagerly  for- 
ward to  his  arrival  in  Annandale. 

To  John  Carlylc,  Florence. 

"Edinburgh:  March  29, 1833. 

"You  will  find  much  changed  in  Dumfriesshire,  but  not  the  af- 
fection of  those  that  remain  for  you.  There  will  be  much  to  tell, 
much  to  speculate  upon  and  devise  for  the  time  that  is  to  come.  .  .  . 
I  have  thought  much  about  your  future  of  late;  see  it  like  all  our 
futures,  full  of  obstruction :  nevertheless,  will  not  cease  to  hope  good. 
It  is  a  most  ruinous  chaotic  time,  this  of  ours,  a  time  of  confusion 
outward  and  inward,  of  falsehood,  imbecility,  destitution,  despera- 
tion, unbelief;  woe  to  him  who  has  within  him  no  light  of  Faith, 
to  guide  his  steps  through  it !  My  main  comfort  about  you  is  to  see 
the  grand  practical  lesson  of  Entsagen 1  impressing  itself  in  ineffacc- 

»  This  word,  which  so  often  occurs  in  Carlyle's  letters,  means,  briefly,  a  resolution  fix- 


200  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

able  devoutness  on  your  heart ;  herein,  it  is  well  said,  eigentlich  beginnt 
das  Lehen.  Whoso  is  a  man  may  in  all  seasons,  scenes,  and  circum- 
stances live  like  a  man.  Let  us  take  the  world  bravely  then,  and  fight 
bravely  to  the  end,  since  nothing  else  has  been  appointed  us.  I  have 
inquired  with  myself  often  whether  you  should  settle  here,  at  Lon- 
don, or  where.  This  is  but  a  pitiful  place,  but  indeed  all  places  are 
pitiful.  In  the  grand  universal  race  towards  ruin  (economical)  we 
are,  as  I  judge,  almost  a  whole  generation  behind  London.  Never- 
theless, here  too  things  are  advancing  with  most  rapid  pace ;  a  few 
years  will  bring  us  a  long  way.  Universal  Poverty  is  already  here, 
numerous  persons,  and  these  are  the  wisest,  determine  this  season  to 
fly  over  seas,  to  America,  Australia,  anywhither  where  the  famine  is 
not.  Ruin  economical  is  not  far  distant ;  and  then  in  regard  to  ruin 
spiritual  I  should  say  that  it  was  already  triumphant  amongst  us; 
while  in  chaotic  London  there  were  blissful  symptoms  here  and 
there  discernible  of  palingenesia.  This  makes  the  difference.  In 
London,  amid  its  huge  deafening  hubbub  of  a  Death-song,  are  to  be 
heard  tones  of  a  Birth-song;  while  here  all  is  putrid,  scandalous, 
decadent,  hypocritical,  and  sounds  through  your  soul  like  lugubrious 
universal  Ncenia,  chanted  by  foul  midnight  hags.  There  is  mis- 
anthropy and  philanthropy  for  you  expressed  with  poetic  emphasis 
enough. 

"  In  sober  truth,  however,  it  might  almost  surprise  one  to  consider 
how  infinitely  small  a  quantity,  not  of  enlightened  speech,  one 
catches  here,  but  even  of  speech  at  all ;  for  the  jargon  that  is  uttered 
without  conviction  from  the  teeth  outwards,  who  would  name  that 
speech?  Peace  be  with  it!  There  are  books  to  be  got  at;  air  to 
breathe;  and,  lastly,  a  coach  to  carry  you  back  moorwards  when  that 
becomes  more  tolerable. 

"Most  likely  I  mentioned  last  time  that  I  was  writing  a  paper  on 
'Cagliostro.'  I  might,  perhaps  with  advantage,  have  asked  you 
some  questions  about  his  last  scene  of  life,  your  Roman  St.  Angelo, 
but  I  did  not  recollect  that  possibility,  and  now  the  thing  is  all  fin- 
ished off,  perhaps  more  carefully  than  it  deserved  to  be.  It  is  for 
Fraser,  and  may  perhaps  suit  him  well  enough;  otherwise  I  value 
the  article  below  a  pin's  price :  it  will  do  no  ill,  and  that  is  the  most 
one  can  say  of  it.  I  am  partly  minded  next  to  set  forth  some  small 
narrative  about  the  Diamond  Necklace,  once  so  celebrated  a  busi- 
ness, but  must  wait  a  day  or  two  till  I  have /me*  Feld.  It  will  serve 
me  till  about  the  time  of  our  departure  homewards,  which  we  date 
a  month  hence.  .  .  .  Wilson  I  have  met  only  once ;  I  had  called  on  him 
before;  as  he  never  returned  it,  I  could  not  go  near  him  again,  more 
especially  after  all  the  blathering  stuff  he  had  uttered  on  the  matter 
for  years  past.  I  still  read  his  Magazine  palaver  with  an  affection- 
ate interest;  believe  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  got  from  him.  We 
will  not  quarrel,  but  also  we  shall  not  agree.  This  night  Gordon 
invites  me  to  meet  him  at  supper,  but  I  cannot  resolve  to  go;  the 
man  is  not  worth  an  indigestion.  De  Quincey,  who  has  been  once 

edly  and  clearly  made  to  do  without  tho  vnrious  pleasant  things — wealth,  promotion, 
fame,  honor,  and  the  other  rewards  with  which  ihe  world  rewards  the  services  wh.c.b 
it  appreciates. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  201 

seen  out  this  winter,  sent  me  word  he  would  come  and  see  me :  he 
will  do  no  such  thing,  poor  little  fellow;  he  has  hardly  got  out  of 
his  cessio  bonorum,  and  for  the  present  (little  Moir,  his  friend,  pathet- 
ically says)  '  is  living  on  game  which  has  spoiled  on  the  poulterer's 
hands,'  having  made  a  bargain  to  that  effect  with  him,  and  even  run 
up  a  score  of  fifteen  pounds.  Sir  William  Hamilton  I  like  best  of 
any,  but  see  little  of  him.  I  even  met  the  'hash  B.  .  .  .  ,'  who  has 
mounted  a  carriage  now  and  rides  prosperously.  '  I  saw  the  wicked 
great  in  power.'  It  was  at  Moir's,  this  rencounter,  at  dinner;  the 
'hash'  somewhat  reconciled  to  me  by  his  presence;  I  traced  in  him 
several  features  of  my  friend  Cagliostro,  and  said,  honestly,  Live 
then,  enjoy  thyself  as  subaltern  quack.  The  Devil  is  very  busy 
with  us  all.  Naso  I  visited  in  the  dining  way  yesternight,  for  the 
first  and  probably  last  time.  He  affected  to  be  extremely  kind,  and 
our  party  (with  an  American  anti-slave  enthusiast  in  it)  went  off 
quite  happily;  but  Naso  wants  that  first  fundamental  requisite  of 
genius,  I  fear,  common  honesty.  He  has  paid  me,  and  shabbily  and 
on  compulsion,  that  last  debt  of  his ;  and  now,  as  I  reckon,  our  edi- 
torial relation  may  have  terminated.  That  pecuniary  defalcation 
of  his  again  sorrowfully  altered  my  scriptory  method  of  procedure. 
But  we  cannot  help  it.  Must  even  turn  ourselves  elsewhere. 

"The  Reformed  Parliament  disappoints  every  one  but  me  and  the 
Tories.  Endless  jargon;  no  business  done.  I  do  not  once  a  month 
look  at  the  side  of  the  world  it  sits  on;  let  it  go  to  the  Devil  its 
own  way.  ...  Of  poor  Edward  Irving  your  Galignani  will  per- 
haps have  told  you  enough ;  he  came  to  Annan  to  be  deposed ;  made 
a  heroico-distracted  speech  there,  Dow  finishing  off  with  a  Holy 
Ghost  shriek  or  two ;  whereupon  Irving,  calling  on  them  to  '  hear 
that,'  indignantly  withdrew.  He  says,  in  a  letter  printed  in  the 
newspapers,  that  he  '  did  purpose  to  tarry  in  those  parts  certain  days, 
and  publish  in  the  towns  of  the  coast  the  great  name  of  the  Lord;' 
which  purpose  '  he  did  accomplish, '  publishing  everywhere  a  varie- 
ty of  things.  He  was  at  Ecclefechan,  Jean  writes  us;  gray,  toil- 
worn,  haggard,  with  '  an  immense  cravat  the  size  of  a  sowing-sheet 
covering  all  his  breast ;'  the  country  people  are  full  of  zeal  for  him ; 
but  everywhere  else  his  very  name  is  an  offence  in  decent  society. 
'  Publish  in  the  towns  of  the  coast !'  Oh !  it  is  a  Pickle-herring  Trag- 
edy :  the  accursedest  thing  one's  eye  could  light  on.  As  for  Dow, 
he  must  surely  ere  long  end  in  a  madhouse.  For  our  poor  friend 
one  knows  not  what  to  predict. 

"Jane  has  walked  very  strictly  by  old  Dr.  Hamilton's  law,  without 
any  apparent  advantage.  Her  complaint  seems  like  mine,  a  kind  of 
seated  dyspepsia;  no  medicine  is  of  avail,  only  regimen  (when  once 
one  can  find  it  out),  free  air,  and,  if  that  was  possible,  cheerfulness 
of  mind.  She  bears  up  with  fixed  resolution,  appears  even  to  enjoy 
many  things  in  Edinburgh,  yet  has  grown  no  stronger  of  late.  We 
must  take  the  good  and  the  ill  together,  and  still  hope  for  the  better. 
She  sends  you  her  affection,  and  hopes  we  shall  all  meet  at  Craigen- 
puttock  once  more.  Be  it  so,  if  it  pleases  God.  All  things,  as  your 
faith  tells  you,  will  turn  out  for  good  if  we  ourselves  prove  good. 
Meanwhile,  the  only  clear  duty  of  man  lies  in  this,  and  nothing  else 
— work,  work  wisely,  while  it  is  called  to-day.  Nothing  in  this  uni- 

9* 


202  LIFE   OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

verse  now  frightens  me,  though  yearly  it  grows  more  stupendous, 
more  divine;  and  the  terrestrial  life  appointed  us  more  poor  and 
brief.    Eternity  looks  grander  and  kinder  if  Time  grow  meaner  and 
more  hostile.     I  defy  Time  and  the  spirit  of  Time. 
"Farewell,  dear  John, 

"  Ever  your  brother,  T.  CARLYLE." 

The  account  of  the  visit  to  Edinburgh  began  with  an  extract  from 
Carlyle's  Note-book.  It  may  end  with  another. 

"March  31. — Wonderful,  and,  alas!  most  pitiful,  alternations  of 
belief  and  unbelief  in  me.  On  the  whole,  no  encouragement  to  be 
met  with  here  in  Edinburgh;  'all  men,'  says  John  Gordon,  naively, 
'  are  quite  taken  up  with  making  a  livelihood.'  It  is  taken  for  grant- 
ed, I  find,  that  of  me  nothing  can  be  made — that  I  am,  economically 
speaking,  but  a  lost  man.  No  great  error  there,  perhaps;  but  if  it  is 
added  by  my  friends  themselves  that  therefore  I  am  spiritually  lost  ? 
One's  ears  are  bewildered  by  the  inane  chatter  of  the  people ;  one's 
heart  is  for  hours  and  days  overcast  by  the  sad  feeling:  'There  is 
none,  then,  not  one,  that  will  believe  in  me  !'  Great  in  this  life  is 
the  communion  of  man  with  man.  Meanwhile,  continue  to  believe 
in  thyself.  Let  the  chattering  of  innumerable  gigmen  pass  by  thee  as 
what  it  is.  Wait  thou  on  the  bounties  of  thy  unseen  Taskmaster, 
on  the  hests  of  thy  inward  Daemon.  Sow  the  seed  field  of  Time. 
What  if  thou  see  no  fruit  of  it?  another  will.  Be  not  weak. 

"Neither  fear  thou  that  this,  thy  great  message  of  the  Natural 
being  the  Supernatural,  will  wholly  perish  unuttered.  One  way  or 
other,  it  will  and  shall  be  uttered.  Write  it  down  on  paper,  anyway ; 
speak  it  from  thee;  so  shall  thy  painful,  destitute  existence  not  have 
been  in  vain.  Oh,  in  vain?  Hadst  thou,  even  thou,  a  message  from 
the  Eternal,  and  thou  grudgest  the  travail  of  thy  embassy?  O  thou 
of  little  faith  !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A.D.  1833.     JET.  38. 

THE  four  months'  experience  of  Edinburgh  had  convinced  Carlyle 
that  there  at  least  could  be  no  permanent  home  for  him.  If  driven 
to  leave  his  "  castle  on  the  moor,"  it  must  be  for  London — only  Lon- 
don. In  April  he  found  that  he  had  gathered  sufficient  materials 
for  his  article  on  the  Diamond  Necklace,  which  he  could  work  up 
at  Craigenputtock.  At  the  beginning  of  May  he  was  again  in  An- 
nandale,  on  his  way  home,  Mrs.  Carlyle  miserably  ill,  and  craving, 
like  a  wounded  wild  animal,  to  creep  away  out  of  human  sight. 
"I  left  Edinburgh,"  he  wrote,  "  with  the  grieved  heart  customary  to 
me  on  visits  thither;  a  wretched  infidel  place;  not  one  man  that 
could  forward  you,  co-operate  with  you  in  any  useful  thing. 
Scarcely  one  I  could  find  (except  Sir  William  Hamilton)  that  could 
speak  a  sincere  word.  I  bought  several  books  in  Edinburgh,  carried 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  203 

back  with  me  materials  enough  for  reflection;  the  very  contradic- 
tions, even  unjust  ones,  you  meet  with,  arc  elements  of  new  progress. 
My  presence  there  was  honored  with  many  a  kind  civility,  too ;  was 
publicly  acknowledged  by  a  kind  of  lampoon,  laudative-vituperative 
(as  it  ought  to  be),  by  one  Brown,  editor  of  a  newspaper,  whom  I 
have  known  at  a  distance  as  a  blustering  bubblyjock,  much  given  to 
fabrication;  on  the  other  hand,  I  relieved  Professor  Wilson  from  the 
necessity  of  fabricating  any  more  in  my  behalf  by  decidedly  cutting 
him  the  day  before  we  left  town.  I  was  quite  wearied  with  the  man, 
his  deep  desire  to  be  familiar  with  me,  his  numerous  evasions  to 
meet  me,  his  lies  to  excuse  these;  and  so,  in  mere  Christian  charity, 
brought  it  to  an  end.  My  feelings  to  him  remain,  I  hope,  unchanged, 
as  much  as  I  can  make  them — admiration  for  a  very  superior  talent, 
for  many  gleams  of  worth  and  generosity;  contempt,  pity  for  his 
cowardice,  for  his  want  of  spiritual  basis,  which  renders  all  his  force 
a  self-destructive  one,  properly  no  force  at  all.  Thus  did  I  finish 
off  with  Edinburgh,  not  in  the  most  balsamic  fashion." 

The  work  which  Carlyle  had  done  in  the  winter  had  more  than 
paid  his  modest  expenses.  He  was  still  undetermined  how  next  to 
proceed,  and  felt  a  need  of  rest  and  reflection.  It  seemed,  he  said, 
as  if  "the  first  act  of  his  life  was  closing,  the  second  not  yet  opened." 
Means  to  go  on  upon  were  found  in  the  hitherto  unfortunate  Teu- 
felsdrockh.  Unable  to  find  an  accoucheur  who  would  introduce  him 
to  the  world  complete,  he  was  to  be  cut  in  pieces  and  produced 
limb  by  limb  in  Fraser's  Magazine.  Fraser,  however,  who  had  hith- 
erto paid  Carlyle  twenty  guineas  a  sheet  for  his  articles  (five  guineas 
more  than  he  paid  any  other  contributor),  had  to  stipulate  for  pay- 
ing no  more  than  twelve  upon  this  unlucky  venture.  Ten  sheets 
were  to  be  allotted  to  Teufel  in  ten  successive  numbers.  Thus 
"  Sartor  Resartus  "  was  to  find  its  way  into  print  at  last,  in  this  and 
the  following  year,  and  sufficient  money  was  provided  for  the  Craig- 
enputtock  housekeeping  for  another  twelve  months. 

The  summer  so  begun  was  a  useful  and  not  unpleasant  one. 
John  Carlyle,  returning  from  Italy,  spent  two  months  of  it  in  his 
brother's  house,  intending,  at  the  end  of  them,  to  rejoin  Lady  Clare 
and  go  again  abroad  with  her.  There  were  occasional  visits  to 
Scotsbrig.  Many  books  were  read,  chiefly  about  the  French  Revo- 
lution; while  from  the  Journal  it  appears  that  Carlyle  was  putting 
himself  through  a  severe  cross-examination,  discovering,  for  one 
thing,  that  he  was  too  intolerant,  "his  own  private  discontent  min- 
gling considerably  with  his  zeal  against  evil-doers,"  too  contemptu- 
ously indifferent  ' '  to  those  who  were  not  forwarding  him  on  his 
course;"  wanting  in  courtesy,  and  "given  to  far  too  much  emphasis 
in  the  expression  of  his  convictions."  It  was  necessary  for  him  to 
ascertain  what  his  special  powers  were,  and  what  were  the  limits  of 


204  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

them.  "I  begin  to  suspect,"  he  wrote,  "that  I  have  no  poetic 
talent  whatever,  but  of  this,  too,  am  nowise  absolutely  sure.  It  still 
seems  as  if  a  whole  magazine  of  faculty  lay  in  me  all  undeveloped; 
held  in  thraldom  by  the  meanest  physical  and  economical  causes. " 

One  discovery  came  on  him  as  a  startling  surprise. 

"  On  the  whole,  art  thou  not  among  the  vainest  of  living  men? 
At  bottom,  among  the  very  vainest?  Oh,  the  sorry,  mad  ambitions 
that  lurk  in  thee!  God  deliver  me  from  vanity,  from  self-conceit, 
the  first  sin  of  this  universe,  and  the  last,  for  I  think  it  will  never 
leave  us." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  continued  ill  and  out  of  spirits,  benefiting  less  than 
she  had  hoped  from  her  brother-in-law's  skill  in  medicine,  yet  con- 
triving now  and  then  to  sketch,  in  her  humorous  way,  the  accidents 
of  the  moorland  existence.  She  had  an  unlucky  habit  of  dating  her 
letters  only  by  the  day  of  the  week,  or  sometimes  not  at  all,  and  as 
those  to  Annandale  were  sent  often  by  private  hand,  there  is  no 
post-mark  to  make  good  her  shortcomings. 

The  following  letter  to  her  mother-in-law,  however,  is  assigned 
by  Carlyle  to  the  summer  of  1833.  Written  at  what  time  it  may,  it 
will  serve  as  a  genuine  picture  of  Craigenputtock  life. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Craigenputtock. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  am  not  satisfied  it  should  be  even  so  much 
as  whispered  that  I  have  been  scared  from  Scotsbrig  by  the  grate  re- 
form, or  by  any  other  cause.  Surely  I  have  come  through  earth- 
quakes enough  in  my  time  (and  with  an  honorable,  thorough  bear- 
ing) to  have  acquired  a  character  on  that  head  more  unimpeachable. 
But,  to  be  sure,  the  calumny  was  no  invention  of  yours,  but  of 
younger  heads  less  eminent  for  charity.  It  was  the  long  journey  I 
boggled  at  on  the  last  occasion,  being  in  a  despairing  mood  at  the 
time  with  want  of  sleep,  and  dearly  I  rued,  every  hour  of  my  hus- 
band's absence,  that  I  had  not  accompanied  him,  when,  if  I  must 
needs  have  been  ill,  I  might  at  least  have  been  so  without  molesta- 
tion. Another  time  we  will  do  better. 

"Carlyle  is  toiling  away  at  the  new  article,1  and  though  by  no 
means  content  with  the  way  he  makes  (when  is  he  ever  content?), 
still,  as  you  used  to  say,  '  what  is  down  will  not  jump  out  again. ' 
In  three  weeks  or  so  it  will  be  done,  and  then  we  come.  I  am  cer- 
tainly mended  since  you  were  here ;  but  '  deed  Mrs.  Carle's  maist 
ashamed  to  say't,'  a's  still  weakly  and  takes  no  unusual  fatigue  with- 
out suffering  for  it.  The  toil  and  trouble  I  had  about  Betty  *  did  me 
great  mischief,  which  I  have  scarcely  yet  got  over ;  for  the  rest,  that 
explosion  has  had  no  unpleasant  consequences.  The  woman  I  got 
in  her  stead,  on  an  investigation  of  three  minutes,  proves  to  be  quite 
as  clever  a  servant  as  she  was  whom  I  investigated  for  the  space  of 

1  "  Diamond  Necklace. — T.C."  *  A  misconducted  maid. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  205 

three  half-years,  and  rode,  as  I  compute,  some  hundred  miles  after. 
Deaf  as  a  door-nail,  the  present  individual  has  nevertheless  con- 
ducted herself  quite  satisfactorily,  except  that  Carlyle's  silk  hand- 
kerchief is  occasionally  in  requisition  (of  tener,  I  think,  than  there  is 
any  visible  cause),  wiping  off  particles  of  dust;  and  once,  by  awful 
oversight,  a  small  dead  mouse  was  permitted  to  insinuate  itself  into 
his  bowl  of  porridge.  We  are  not  to  keep  her,  however,  because  of 
her  deafness,  which  in  any  other  place,  where  her  ears  would  be 
called  into  vigorous  action,  would  make  her  the  mere  effigy  of  a  ser- 
vant. I  got  back  the  black  button  who  was  here  when  you  came, 
whom  I  know  to  be  ignorant  as  a  sucking  child  of  almost  every- 
thing I  require  her  to  do,  but  whom  I  hope  to  find  honest,  diligent, 
good-humored,  and  quick  in  the  tip-take. 

' '  I  had  a  very  kind  letter  from  Mrs.  Montagu  last  week,  reproach- 
ing me  with  forgetf ulness  of  her. 

' '  We  have  not  heard  from  or  of  Jeffrey  for  a  very  long  time,  but 
he  will  certainly  write  on  Wednesday  to  acknowledge  the  repay- 
ment of  his  debt,  which  is  a  great  load  off  our  minds. l 

"My  mother  writes  in  great  alarm  about  cholera,  which  is  at 
Penpont,  within  three  miles  of  her;  three  persons  have  died.  I 
have  been  expecting  nothing  else,  and  my  dread  of  it  is  not  greater 
for  its  being  at  hand.  The  answer  to  all  such  terrors  is  simply 
what  Carlyle  said  a  year  ago  to  some  one  who  told  him  in  London, 
'  Cholera  is  here:'  '  When  is  death  not  here?'  " 

The  next  letter  from  Mrs.  Carlyle  bears  a  clear  date  of  its  own, 
and  was  written  while  John  Carlyle  was  staying  at  Craigenputtock. 
It  is  to  Eliza  Miles. 

"Craigenputtock:  July  15, 1333. 

"My  dear  Eliza, — I  well  remember  the  fine  evening  last  year 
when  I  received  your  letter.  I  was  riding  alone  across  our  solitary 
moor  when  I  met  my  boy  returning  from  the  post-office,  and  took 
it  from  him  and  opened  it  and  read  it  on  horseback,  too  anxious  for 
news  about  you  to  keep  it  for  a  more  convenient  place.  Had  any 
one  predicted  to  me  then  that  the  good,  kind,  trustful  letter  was  to 
lie  unanswered  for  a  whole  year,  I  should  have  treated  such  predic- 
tion as  an  injurious  calumny  which  there  was  not  the  remotest 
chance  of  my  justifying!  Alas!  and  it  is  actually  so!  For  a  whole 
year  I  have  left  my  dear  little  friend  in  Ampton  Street  to  form  what 
theory  she  pleased  concerning  the  state  of  my  mind  towards  her; 
and  finally,  I  suppose,  to  set  me  down  for  heartless  and  fickle,  and 
dismiss  my  remembrance  with  a  sigh;  for  her  gentle,  affectionate 
nature  is  incapable,  I  believe,  of  more  indignant  reproach.  And 
yet,  Eliza,  [it  was]  neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other.  I  am  capa- 
ble of  as  strong  attachment  as  yourself  (which  is  saying  much);  and 
if  I  do  not  abandon  myself  to  my  attachment  as  you  do,  it  is  only 
because  I  am  older,  have  had  my  dreams  oftener  brought  into  colli- 
sion with  the  realities  of  life,  and  learnt  from  the  heart-rending  jar- 

1  Carlyle's  debt  to  Jeffrey  had  been  paid  the  summer  before.  Either,  therefore,  Car- 
lyle was  mistaken  in  the  date  of  this  letter,  and  for  "Diamond  Necklace"  we  should 
read  "Diderot;"  or  there  had  been  some  further  debt  of  John  Carlflo's. 


206  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ring  of  such  collision  that  '  all  is  not  gold  that  glitters, '  and  that 
one's  only  safe  dependence  is  in  one's  self — I  mean  in  the  good  that 
is  in  one.  As  little  am  I  fickle,  which  I  must  beg  you  to  believe  on 
trust;  since  my  past  life,  which  would  bear  me  out  in  the  boast,  is 
all  unknown  to  you.  What  is  it,  then,  you  will  ask,  that  makes  me 
fail  in  so  simple  a  duty  of  friendship  as  the  writing  of  a  letter?  It 
is  sometimes  sheer  indolence,  sometimes  sickness,  sometimes  pro- 
crastination. My  first  impulse,  after  reading  your  letter,  was  to  sit 
down  and  answer  it  by  the  very  next  post.  Then  I  thought  I  will 
wait  the  Lord  -  advocate's  return,  that  he  may  frank  it.  Then 
troubles  thickened  round  me:  my  mother's  illness,  my  grandfa- 
ther's death,  gave  me  much  fatigue  of  body  and  mind.  That,  again, 
increased  to  cruel  height  my  own  persevering  ailments.  About  the 
new  year  we  removed  to  Edinburgh,  where  we  stayed  till  the  begin- 
ning of  May.  It  was  a  fully  more  unhealthy  winter  for  me  than  the 
previous  one  in  London.  I  wrote  to  no  one;  had  enough  to  do  in 
striving  with  the  tempter  ever  present  with  me  in  the  shape  of  head- 
aches, heartache,  and  all  kinds  of  aches,  that  I  might  not  break  out 
into  fiery  indignation  over  my  own  destiny  and  all  the  earth's.  Since 
my  home-coming  I  have  improved  to  a  wonder;  and  the  days  have 
passed,  I  scarce  know  how,  in  the  pleasant  hopelessness  that  long- 
continued  pain  sometimes  leaves  behind. 

' '  Nay,  I  must  not  wrong  myself.  I  have  not  been  quite  idle.  I 
have  made  a  gown  which  would  delight  Mrs.  Page,  it  looks  so  neat 
and  clean;  and  a  bonnet,  and  loaves  of  bread  innumerable.  At 
present  I  am  reading  Italian  most  of  the  day  with  my  medical 
brother-in-law,  who  is  home  at  present  from  Rome.  It  was  my 
husband  who,  for  all  his  frightening  you  with  some  books,  raised 
me  from  Ariosto  to-day,  with  the  chiding  words  that  it  would  be 
altogether  shameful  if  I  let  his  book- parcel  go  without  that  letter  for 
Miss  Miles,  which  I  had  talked  of  writing  these  six  months  back. 

"...  How  is  your  health?  I  hope  you  do  not  go  often  to 
Dr.  Fisher's,  or  at  all.  The  more  I  see  of  doctors,  the  more  I  hold 
by  my  old  heresy  that  they  are  all  'physicians  of  no  value.'  My 
brother-in-law  is  a  paragon  of  the  class,  but  he  is  so  by — in  as  much 
as  possible — undoctoring  himself.  He  told  me  yesterday,  '  Could  I 
give  you  some  agreeable  occupation  to  fill  your  whole  mind,  it 
would  do  more  for  you  than  all  the  medicines  in  existence.' 

"  I  wish  I  had  you  here  to  drink  new  milk  and  ride  my  horse. 

"  We  are  at  home  now  for  the  summer  and  autumn,  most  likely 
for  the  winter  also.  We  think  of  France  next  summer,  and  moving 
in  the  interim  were  scarce  worth  while.  Surely  your  father  might 
find  some  one  travelling  to  Edinburgh  by  sea,who  would  take  charge 
of  you.  It  is  the  easiest  and  cheapest  conveyance  possible. 

"  Write  to  me  all  that  you  are  thinking  and  wishing,  and  never 
doubt  my  kind  feelings  towards  you. 

"  Your  sincere  friend,  JANE  CARLYLE." 

John  Carlyle  remained  at  Craigenputtock  for  a  month  longer,  and 
then  left  it  to  return  with  Lady  Clare  to  Italy.  Carlyle  saw  him  off 
in  the  Liverpool  steamer  from  Annan,  and  went  back  to  solitude  and 
work.  He  says  that  he  was  invariably  sick  and  miserable  before  he 


LIFE  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE.  207 

could  write  to  any  real  purpose.  His  first  attempt  at  the  Diamond 
Necklace  had  failed,  and  he  had  laid  it  aside.  The  entries  in  his 
Journal  show  more  than  usual  despondency. 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"August  24. — So  now  all  this  racketing  and  riding  has  ended,  and 
I  am  left  here  the  solitaricst,  stranded,  most  helpless  creature  that  I 
have  been  for  many  years.  Months  of  suffering  and  painful  indo- 
lence I  see  before  me;  for  in  much  I  am  wrong,  and  till  it  is  righted, 
or  on  the  way  to  being  so,  I  cannot  help  myself.  Nobody  asks  me 
to  work  at  articles,  and  as  need  does  not  drive  me  to  do  it  for  a 
while,  I  have  no  call  in  that  direction.  The  thing  I  want  to  write 
is  quite  other  than  an  article.  Happily  (this  is  probably  my  great- 
est happiness),  the  chief  desire  of  my  mind  has  again  become  to 
write  a  masterpiece,  let  it  be  acknowledged  as  such  or  not  acknowl- 
edged. The  idea  of  the  universe  struggles  dark  and  painful  in  me, 
which  I  must  deliver  out  of  me  or  be  wretched.  But,  then,  HowV 
How?  We  cannot  think  of  changing  our  abode  at  present;  indeed, 
had  we  even  the  necessary  funds  for  living  in  London  itself,  what 
better  were  it?  and  I  in  such  a  want,  in  such  a  mood !  Thyself  only 
art  to  blame.  Take  thyself  vigorously  to  task.  Cast  out  the  un- 
clean thing  from  thee,  or  go  deeper  and  deeper  hellward  with  it. 

"For  the  last  year  my  faith  has  lain  under  a  most  sad  eclipse;  I 
have  been  a  considerably  worse  man  than  before. 

"  At  this  moment  I  Write  only  in  treble,  of  a  situation,  of  a  set  of 
feelings  that  longs  to  express  itself  in  the  voice  of  thunder.  Be 
still!  Be  still! 

' '  In  alt  times  there  is  a  word  which,  spoken  to  men,  to  the  actual 
generation  of  men,  would  thrill  their  inmost  soul.  But  the  way  to 
lind  that  word?  The  way  to  speak  it  when  found?  Opus  est  con- 
sulto  with  a  vengeance. 

"  On  the  whole,  it  is  good,  it  is  absolutely  needful  for  one  to  be 
humbled  and  prostrated,  and  thrown  among  the  pots  from  time  to 
time.  Life  is  a  school:  we  are  perverse  scholars  to  the  last,  and  re- 
quire the  rod. 

"Above  me,  as  I  thought  last  night  in  going  to  sleep,  is  the  mute 
Immensity ;  Eternity  is  behind  and  before.  What  are  all  the  cares 
of  this  short  little  Platform  of  existence,  that  they  should  give  thee 
Pain?  But,  on  the  whole,  man  is  such  a  Dualim/i,  and  runs  himself 
into  contradiction,  the  second  step  he  makes  from  the  beaten  road 
of  the  practical.  I  may  lament  meanwhile  that  (for  want  of  sym- 
bols?) those  grand  verities  (the  reallest  of  the  real)  Infinitude,  Eter- 
nity, should  have  so  faded  from  the  view,  from  the  grasp,  of  the 
mo'st  earnest,  and  left  the  task  of  right  licing  a  problem  harder  than 
ever. 

"  Have  to  walk  down  to  the  smithy  (my  dame  riding)  and  bring 
up  a  gig:  thus  are  the  high  and  the  low  mingled.  I  read  books 
enough,  but  they  are  worthless,  and  their  effect  worthless.  Henry's 
'Britain,'  'Poor-law  Commission,'  'Paris  and  Histor.  Scenes,' 
etc. ,  etc. ,  all  these  are  naught,  or  nearly  so ;  errand  '  for  the  gig  is 
better  work  for  me.  At  any  rate,  it  is  work;  so  to  it.' " 


208  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

The  next  entry  in  the  Journal  is  in  another  handwriting.  It  is 
merely  a  name — "Ralph  Waldo  Emerson." 

The  Carlyles  were  sitting  alone  at  dinner  on  a  Sunday  afternoon 
at  the  end  of  August,  when  a  Dumfries  carriage  drove  to  the  door, 
and  there  stepped  out  of  it  a  young  American  then  unknown  to 
fame,  but  whose  influence  in  his  own  country  equals  that  of  Carlyle 
in  ours,  and  whose  name  stands  connected  with  his  wherever  the 
English  language  is  spoken.  Emerson,  the  younger  of  the  two,  had 
just  broken  his  Unitarian  fetters,  and  was  looking  out  and  round 
him  like  a  young  eagle  longing  for  light.  He  had  read  Carlyle's 
articles,  and  had  discerned  with  the  instinct  of  genius  that  here  was 
a  voice  speaking  real  and  fiery  convictions,  and  no  longer  echoes 
and  conventionalisms.  He  had  come  to  Europe  to  study  its  social 
and  spiritual  phenomena;  and  to  the  young  Emerson,  as  to  the  old 
Goethe,  the  most  important  of  them  appeared  to  be  Carlyle.  He 
had  obtained  an  introduction  to  him  from  John  Mill,  in  London, 
armed  with  which  he  had  come  off  to  Scotland.  Mill  had  prepared 
Carlyle  for  his  possible  appearance  not  very  favorably,  and  perhaps 
recognized  in  after-years  the  fallibility  of  his  judgment.  Carlyle 
made  no  such  mistake.  The  fact  itself  of  a  young  American  hav- 
ing been  so  affected  by  his  writings  as  to  have  sought  him  out  in  the 
Dunscore  moors  was  a  homage  of  the  kind  which  he  could  espe- 
cially value  and  appreciate.  The  acquaintance  then  begun  to  their 
mutual  pleasure  ripened  into  a  deep  friendship,  which  has  remained 
unclouded  in  spite  of  wide  divergences  of  opinion  throughout  their 
working  lives,  and  continues  warm  as  ever,  at  the  moment  when  I 
am  writing  these  words  (June  27,  1880),  when  the  labors  of  both  of 
them  are  over,  and  they  wait  in  age  and  infirmity  to  be  called  away 
from  a  world  to  which  they  have  given  freely  all  that  they  had  to 
give. 

Emerson's  visit  at  this  moment  is  particularly  welcome,  since  it 
gives  the  only  sketch  we  have  of  Carlyle's  life  at  Craigenputtock  as 
it  was  seen  by  others. 1 

"From  Edinburgh  [writes  Emerson]  I  went  to  the  Highlands,  and 
on  my  return  I  came  from  Glasgow  to  Dumfries,  and  being  intent 
on  delivering  a  letter  which  I  had  brought  from  Rome, 'inquired  for 
Craigenputtock.  It  was  a  farm  in  Nithsdale,  in  the  parish  of  Dun- 
score,  sixteen  miles  distant.  No  public  coach  passed  near  it,  so  I 
took  a  private  carriage  from  the  inn.  I  found  the  house  amid  deso- 
late heathery  hills,  where  the  lonely  scholar  nourished  his  mighty 
heart.  Carlyle  was  a  man  from  his  youth,  an  author  who  did  not 
need  to  hide  from  his  readers,  and  as  absolute  a  man  of  the  world, 

i.  165. 

ition  the  note  from  Mill.     Per- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  209 

unknown  and  exiled  on  that  hill  farm,  as  if  holding  on  his  own 
terms  what  is  best  in  London.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  with  a  cliff- 
like  brow,  and  holding  his  extraordinary  powers  of  conversation  in 
easy  command ;  clinging  to  his  northern  accent  with  evident  relish ; 
full  of  lively  anecdote,  and  with  a  streaming  humor  which  floated 
everything  he  looked  upon.  His  talk,  playfully  exalting  the  most 
familiar  objects,  put  the  companion  at  once  into  an  acquaintance 
with  his  Lars  and  Lemurs,  and  it  was  very  pleasant  to  learn  what 
was  predestined  to  be  a  pretty  mythology.  Few  were  the  objects 
and  lonely  the  man,  '  not  a  person  to  speak  to  within  sixteen  miles 
except  the  minister  of  Dunscore ;'  so  that  books  inevitably  made  his 
topics. 

"He  had  names  of  his  own  for  all  the  matters  familiar  to  his  dis- 
course. Blackwood's  was  the  '  Sand  Magazine  ;'  Fraser's  nearer 
approach  to  possibility  of  life  was  the  '  Mud  Magazine ;'  a  piece  of 
road  near  by  that  marked  some  failed  enterprise  was  '  the  Grave  of 
the  last  Sixpence.'  When  too  much  praise  of  any  genius  annoyed 
him,  he  professed  largely  to  admire  the  talent  shown  by  his  pig.  He 
had  spent  much  time  and  contrivance  in  confining  the  poor  beast  to 
one  enclosure  in  his  pen;  but  pig,  by  great  strokes  of  judgment, 
had  found  out  how  to  let  a  board  down,  and  had  foiled  him.  For 
all  that,  he  still  thought  man  the  most  plastic  little  fellow  in  the 
planet,  and  he  liked  Nero's  death,  Qualis  artifcx  pereo!  better  than 
most  history.  He  worships  a  man  that  will  manifest  any  truth  to 
him.  At  one  time  he  had  inquired  and  read  a  good  deal  about 
America.  Lander's  principle  was  mere  rebellion,  and  that,  he  feared, 
was  the  American  principle.  The  best  thing  he  knew  of  that  coun- 
try was  that  in  it  a  man  can  have  meat  for  his  labor.  He  had  read 
in  Stewart's  book  that  when  he  inquired  in  a  New  York  hotel  for 
the  Boots,  he  had  been  shown  across  the  street,  and  had  found 
Mungo  in  his  own  house  dining  on  roast  turkey. 

' '  We  talked  of  books.  Plato  he  does  not  read,  and  he  disparaged 
Socrates;  and,  when  pressed,  persisted  in  making  Mirabeau  a  hero. 
Gibbon  he  called  the  splendid  bridge  from  the  old  world  to  the  new. 
His  own  reading  had  been  multifarious.  '  Tristram  Shandy '  was 
one  of  his  first  books  after  '  Robinson  Crusoe '  and  Robertson's 
'  America ' — an  early  favorite.  Rousseau's  '  Confessions '  had  dis- 
covered to  him  that  he  was  not  a  dunce ;  and  it  was  now  ten  years 
since  he  had  learned  German  by  the  advice  of  a  man  who  told  him 
he  would  find  in  that  language  what  he  wanted. 

"He  took  despairing  or  satirical  views  of  literature  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  recounted  the  incredible  sums  paid  in  one  year  by  the  great 
booksellers  for  puffing.  Hence  it  comes  that  no  newspaper  is  trusted 
now,  no  books  are  bought,  and  the  booksellers  are  on  the  eve  of 
bankruptcy. 

"He  still  returned  to  English  pauperism,  the  crowded  country, 
the  selfish  abdication  by  public  men  of  all  that  public  persons  should 
perform.  Government  should  direct  poor  men  what  to  do.  '  Poor 
Irish  folk  come  wandering  over  these  moors;  my  dame,'  he  said, 
'  makes  it  a  rule  to  give  to  every  son  of  Adam  bread  to  eat,  and  sup- 
plies his  wants  to  the  next  house.  But  here  are  thousands  of  acres 
which  might  give  them  all  meat,  and  nobody  to  bid  these  poor  Irish 


210  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

go  to  the  moor  and  till  it.  They  burned  the  stacks,  and  so  found 
a  way  to  force  the  rich  people  to  attend  to  them.' 

"We  went  out  to  walk  over  long  hills,  and  looked  at  Criffc-1, 
then  without  his  cap,  and  down  into  Wordsworth's  country.  There 
we  sat  down  and  talked  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  It  was  not 
Carlyle's  fault  that  we  talked  on  that  topic,  for  he  has  the  natural 
disinclination  of  every  nimble  spirit  to  bruise  itself  against  walls, 
and  did  not  like  to  place  himself  where  no  step  can  be  taken.  But 
he  was  honest  and  true,  and  cognizant  of  the  subtle  links  that  bind 
ages  together,  and  saw  how  every  event  affects  all  the  future.  '  Christ 
died  on  the  tree:  that  built  Dunscore  kirk  yonder;  that  brought  you 
and  me  together.  Time  has  only  a  relative  existence.' 

"He  was  already  turning  his  eyes  towards  London  with  a  schol- 
ar's appreciation.  London  is  the  heart  of  the  world,  he  said,  won- 
derful only  from  the  mass  of  human  beings.  He  liked  the  huge 
machine.  Each  keeps  its  own  round.  The  baker's  boy  brings  muf- 
fins to  the  window  at  a  fixed  hour  every  day,  and  that  is  all  the 
Londoner  knows,  or  wishes  to  know,  on  the  subject.  But  it  turned 
out  good  men.  He  named  certain  individuals,  especially  one  man 
of  letters,  his  friend,  the  best  mind  he  knew,  whom  London  had 
well  served." 

Emerson  stayed  for  a  night  and  was  gone  in  the  morning,  seeking 
other  notabilities.  Carlyle  liked  him  well.  Two  days  later  he 
writes  to  his  mother: 

"Three  little  happinesses  have  befallen  us:  first,  a  piano-tuner, 
procured  for  five  shillings  and  sixpence,  has  been  here,  entirely  re- 
forming the  piano,  so  that  I  can  hear  a  little  music  now,  which  does 
me  no  little  good.  Secondly,  Major  Irving,  of  Gribton,  who  used  at 
this  season  of  the  year  to  live  and  shoot  at  Craigenvey,  came  in  one 
day  to  us,  and  after  some  clatter  offered  us  a  rent  of  five  pounds  for 
the  right  to  shoot  here,  and  even  tabled  the  cash  that  moment,  and 
would  not  pocket  it  again.  Money  easilier  won  never  sate  in  my 
pocket ;  money  for  delivering  us  from  a  great  nuisance,  for  now  I 
will  tell  every  gunner  applicant,  '  I  cannot,  sir;  it  is  let,'  Our  third 
happiness  was  the  arrival  of  a  certain  young  unknown  friend,  named 
Emerson,  from  Boston,  in  the  United  States,  who  turned  aside  so  far 
from  his  British,  French,  and  Italian  travels  to  see  me  here!  He  had 
an  introduction  from  Mill  and  a  Frenchman  (Baron  d'Eichthal's  neph- 
ew), whom  John  knew  at  Rome.  Of  course  we  could  do  no  other 
than  welcome  him;  the  rather  as  he  seemed  to  be  one  of  the  most 
lovable  creatures  in  himself  we  had  ever  looked  on.  He  stayed  till 
next  day  with  us,  and  talked  and  heard  talk  to  his  heart's  content, 
and  left  us  all  really  sad  to  part  with  him.  Jane  says  it  is  the  nrst 
journey  since  Noah's  Deluge  undertaken  to  Craigenputtock  for  such 
a  purpose.  In  any  case,  we  had  a  cheerful  day  from  it,  and  ought 
to  be  thankful. " 

During  these  months — the  autumn  of  1833  and  the  beginning  of 
the  year  which  followed — a  close  correspondence  was  maintained 
between  Carlyle  and  John  Mill.  Cavlyle's  part  of  it  I  have  not  seen, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  211 

but  on  both  sides  the  letters  must  have  been  of  the  deepest  interest. 
Thinly  sprinkled  with  information  about  common  friends,  they  re- 
lated almost  entirely  to  the  deepest  questions  which  concern  human- 
ity ;  and  the  letters  of  Mill  are  remarkable  for  simplicity,  humility, 
and  the  most  disinterested  desire  for  truth.  He  had  much  to  learn 
about  Carlyle;  he  was  not  quick  to  understand  character,  and  was 
distressed  to  find,  as  their  communications  became  more  intimate, 
how  widely  their  views  were  divided.  He  had  been  bred  a  utilita- 
rian. He  had  been  taught  that  virtue  led  necessarily  to  happiness, 
and  was  perplexed  at  Carlyle's  insistence  on  Entsagen  (renunciation 
of  personal  happiness)  as  essential  to  noble  action.  He  had  been 
surprised  that  Carlyle  liked  Emerson,  who  had  appeared  to  him, 
perhaps,  a  visionary.  Carlyle,  intending  to  write  another  book, 
was  hesitating  between  a  life  of  John  Knox  and  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. Either  subject  would  give  him  the  opportunity,  which  he 
wanted,  of  expressing  his  spiritual  convictions.  His  inclination  at 
this  moment  was  towards  the  history  of  his  own  country,  and  he 
had  recommended  Mill  to  write  on  the  Revolution.  Mill  felt  that  it 
would  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  him,  without  expressing 
completely  his  views  on  Christianity,  which  the  condition  of  public 
feeling  in  England  would  not  allow  him  to  do.  He  spoke  tenderly 
and  reverently  of  the  personal  character  of  the  Founder  of  Christi- 
anity, and  on  this  part  of  the  subject  he  wrote  as  if  he  was  confident 
that  Carlyle  agreed  with  him.  But,  below  the  truth  of  any  particu- 
lar Religion,  there  lay  the  harder  problem  of  the  existence  and  prov- 
idence of  God ;  and  here  it  seemed  that  Carlyle  had  a  positive  faith, 
while  Mill  had  no  more  than  a  sense  of  probability.  Carlyle  admit- 
ted that,  so  far  as  external  evidence  went,  the  Being  of  God  was  a 
supposition  inadequately  proved.  The  grounds  of  certainty  which 
Carlyle  found  in  himself,  Mill,  much  as  he  desired  to  share  Carlyle's 
belief,  confessed  that  he  was  unable  to  recognize.  So  again  with 
the  soul.  There  was  no  proof  that  it  perished  with  the  body,  but 
again  there  was  no  proof  that  it  did  not.  Duty  was  the  deepest  of 
all  realities;  but  the  origin  of  duty,  for  all  Mill  could  tell,  might  be 
the  tendency  of  right  action  to  promote  the  general  happiness  of 
mankind.  Such  general  happiness  doubtless  could  best  be  promoted 
by  each  person  developing  his  own  powers.  Carlyle  insisted  that 
every  man  had  a  special  task  assigned  to  him,  which  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  discover;  but  the  question  remained,  by  whom  and  how  the 
task  was  assigned ;  and  the  truth  might  only  be  that  men,  in  fact, 
were  born  with  various  qualities,  and  that  the  general  good  was  most 
effectually  promoted  by  the  special  cultivation  of  those  qualities. 

But  I  will  not  attempt  to  pursue  further  so  interesting  an  exposi- 
tion of  Mill's,  views  when  I  am  forbidden  to  use  his  own  language, 
and  must  express  his  meaning  in  a  circuitous  paraphrase.  The  let- 


212  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ters  themselves  may  perhaps  be  published  hereafter  by  those  to 
whom  they  belong.  I  have  alluded  to  the  correspondence  only  be- 
cause it  turned  the  balance  in  Carlyle's  mind,  sent  him  immediately 
back  again  to  Marie  Antoinette  and  the  Diamond  Necklace,  and  de- 
cided for  him  that  he  should  himself  undertake  the  work  which  was 
to  make  his  name  famous. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A.D.  1833.     ^ET.  38. 

WHEN  John  Carlyle  left  Craigenputtock  to  rejoin  Lady  Clare,  the 
parting  between  the  brothers  had  been  exceptionally  sad.  The 
popularity  with  Review  editors  which  had  followed  Carlyle's  ap- 
pearance in  London  was  as  brief  as  it  had  been  sudden.  His  haughty 
tone  towards  them,  and  his  theory  of  "the  Dogs'  Carrion  Cart,"  as 
a  description  of  the  periodicals  of  the  day,  could  not  have  recom- 
mended him  to  their  favor.  The  article  on  Goethe  was  received 
unfavorably,  Cochrane  said  with  unqualified  disapproval.  "Sar- 
tor," when  it  began  to  appear  in  Fraser  piecemeal,  met  a  still 
harder  judgment.  No  one  could  tell  what  to  make  of  it.  The 
writer  was  considered  a  literary  maniac,  and  the  unlucky  editor  was 
dreading  the  ruin  of  his  magazine.  The  brothers  had  doubtless 
talked  earnestly  enough  of  the  threatening  prospect.  John,  who 
owed  all  that  he  had  and  was  to  his  brother's  care  of  him,  and*was 
in  prosperous  circumstances,  was  leaving  that  brother  to  loneliness 
and  depression,  and  to  a  future  on  which  no  light  was  breaking  any- 
where. Carlyle  felt  more  for  John  than  for  himself,  and  his  first 
effort  after  John  was  gone  was  to  comfort  him. 

"For  me  and  my  moorland  loneliness  [he  wrote  on  the  27th  of 
August],  never  let  it  settle  in  your  heart.  I  feel  assured  from  of  old 
that  the  only  true  enemy  I  have  to  struggle  with  is  the  unreason 
within  myself.  If  I  had  given  such  things  harbor  within  me,  I  must 
with  pain  cast  them  out  again.  Still,  then,  still!  Light  will  arise 
for  my  outward  path,  too ;  were  my  inward  light  once  clear  again, 
and  the  world  with  all  its  tribulations  will  lie  under  my  feet.  '  Be 
of  good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the  world :'  so  said  the  wisest  man, 
when  what  was  his  overcoming?  Poverty,  despite,  forsakenness, 
and  the  near  prospect  of  an  accursed  Cross.  'Be  of  good  cheer;  I 
have  overcome  the  world.'  These  words,  on  the  streets  of  Edin- 
burgh last  winter,  almost  brought  tears  into  my  eyes.  But,  on  the 
whole,  quarrel  not  with  my  deliberate  feeling  that  this  wilderness  is 
no  wholesome  abode  for  me ;  that  it  is  my  duty  to  strive,  with  all  in- 
dustry, energy,  and  cheerful  determination,  to  change  it  for  one  less 
solitary.  Consider  also  that  I  am  far  past  the  years  for  headlong 
changes,  and  will  not  rush  out  to  the  warfare  without  a  plan  and 
munitions  of  war.  Nay,  for  a  time  my  first  duty  must  be  com- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  213 

posure;  the  settling  of  innumerable  things  that  are  at  sixes  and 
sevens  within  myself. 

"I  am  writing  nothing  yet,  but  am  not  altogether  idle.  Depend 
upon  it,  I  shall  pass  the  winter  here  far  more  happily  than  you  ex- 
pect. So  fear  not  for  me,  my  dear  brother;  continue  to  hope  of  me 
that  the  work  given  me  '  to  do  may  be  done.' " 

Mrs.  Carlyle,  who  was  still  ailing,  was  carried  off  by  her  mother  a 
few  days  later,  in  the  hope  that  change  of  air  and  relief  from  house- 
hold work  might  be  of  use  to  her,  and  was  taking  a  tour  through  the 
hills  about  Moffat.  Carlyle  himself  was  left  in  utter  solitude  at 
Craigenputtock.  How  he  passed  one  day  of  it  he  tells  in  a  letter, 
which  he  sent  after  his  Goody  Coadjutor,  as  he  called  her,  soon 
after  she  had  left  him. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Moffat. 

"September  7. 

"Yesterday  morning,  while  the  bright  sun  was  welcoming  you  (I 
hope  without  headache)  to  the  watering-place,  I  stirred  little,  yet  was 
not  wholly  idle.  I  adjusted  various  small  matters,  wrote  a  long  let- 
ter to  poor  Mrs.  Swan ' — a  long  one,  yet  the  lamest  utterance  of  my 
feeling  on  that  sad  matter,  for  I  was  stupid  and  could  not  even  feel 
my  feeling  rightly,  much  less  think  it.  After  dinner  I  went  to  walk. 
Sitting  with  my  back  at  the  big  stone  in  the  '  Sixpence,'  looking  out 
over  the  void  moor,  I  hear  a  little  squeak  of  glad,  unmelodious  sing- 
ing: and  presently  Midge,  in  red  jacket  with  a  bundle,  heaves  in 
sight,  clashes  back  astonished  into  a  kind  of  minuet,  answers  my 
questions  with  a  ' Sur!'  and  then  to  the  repetition  of  it,  'How  they 
were  all  at  the  hut?'  chirps  out  with  the  strangest  new  old-woman's 
tone,  '  Oh,  bravely  !'  Poor  little  savage  !  I  met  her  again  in  the 
way  back  (she  had  been  with  Nancy's  gown,  I  suppose),  and  did  not 
kill  her  with  my  eyes,  but  let  her  shy  past  me.  The  red  Midge  in 
that  vacant  wilderness  might  have  given  Wordsworth  a  sonnet.  All 
day,  I  must  remark,  Nancy  had  been  busy  as  a  town  taken  by  storm ; 
and,  indeed,  still  is,  though  I  know  not  with  what:  most  probably 
washing,  I  think ;  for  yesterday  there  appeared  once  a  barrow  with 
something  like  clothes-baskets,  and  to-day  white  sheets  hang  trium- 
phantly on  the  rope.  She  gets  me  all  my  necessaries  quite  punctual- 
ly ;  and,  as  fit,  no  questions  are  asked.  Notybene,  after  a  long  effort  I 
remembered  the  shelling  of  your  pease,  and  told  her  of  it.  After 
tea,  I  did — what  think  you? — composed  some  beautiful  doggerel  on 
the  Linn  of  Crichope  and  fair  Ludovina  (I  hope  she  is  fair):  quite  a 
jewel  of  a  piece;  for  which,  however,  there  is  no  room  on  this  page.3 

i  Of  Kirkcaldy.     Her  husband,  Provost  Swan,  who  had  been  one  of  Carlyle's  friends 
in  the  old  days,  was  just  dead. 
3  Room  was  found  for  it  on  the  margin  of  the  letter: 

"CRICHOPE  Lass. 
"  (Loquitur  genius  loci. ) 
"  Cloistorod  vault  of  living  rooks, 

Here  have  I  my  darksome  dwelling; 
Working,  sing  to  stones  and  stocks. 
Where  beneath  my  waves  go  welling. 


214  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"  Of  the  present  Saturday  the  grandest  event  might  be  the  follow- 
ing: Sickish,  with  little  work,  I  took  my  walk  before  dinner.  Reach- 
ing home,  at  the  corner  of  the  house  I  met  a  pig  apparently  in  a 
state  of  distraction  (grating  harsh  thunder,  its  lugs  over  its  shoulders 
distractedly  flow),  pursued  by  Nancy  in  the  same!  The  sow  has 
not  so  much  broken  the  gate  as  rent  it,  the  side-posts  of  it,  into  two, 
and  left  it  hanging  'like  a  bundle  of  flails.'  After  dinner  I,  with  a 
sublime  patience,  borrow  'Joseph's  wimble,'  and  under  ten  thou- 
sand midge-bites,  with  tools  blunt  as  a  wild  Indian's,  actually  con- 
struct a  brand-new,  most  improved  gate,  which  you  shall  look  upon 
not  without  admiration — if  it  swing  so  long.  1  sent  a  new  message 
to  the  joiner,  but  do  not  in  the  least  expect  him.  I  had  meant  to 
excerpt  from  Bayle  and  such  like,  but  the  Fates,  you  see,  had  most- 
ly ordered  it  otherwise.  Night  found  me,  like  Basil  Montagu, '  at 
my  post,'  namely,  at  my  gate-post,  and  nigh  done  with  it.  I  had 
tea  and  Goody's  letter,  and  so  here  we  are. 

"But  now,  dear  wine,  it  is  fit  I  turn  a  moment  to  thy  side.  Is 
my  little  Janekin  getting  any  sleep  in  that  unknown  cabin?  Is  she 
enjoying  aught,  hoping  aught,  except  the  end  of  it,  which  is,  and 
should  be,  one  of  her  hopes?  I  shall  learn  'all'  on  Wednesday 
(for  she  will  write,  as  I  do);  and  then  'all  and  everything.'  When? 
I  am  patient  as  possible  hitherto,  and  my  patience  will  stretch  if  I 
know  that  you  enjoy  yourself,  still  more  that  your  health  seems  to 
profit.  Take  a  little  amusement,  dear  Goody,  if  thou  canst  get  it. 
God  knows  little  comes  to  thee  with  me,  and  thou  art  right  patient 
under  it.  But,  courage,  dearest!  I  swear  better  days  are  coming, 
shall  come.  The  accursed,  baleful  cloud  that  has  hung  over  my 
existence  must  (I  feel  it)  dissipate,  and  let  in  the  sun  which  shines 
on  all.  It  must,  I  say.  What  is  it  but  a  cloud,  properly  a  shadow, 

"  Beams  flood-borne  athwart  me  cast 

Arches  see,  and  aisles  moist  gleaming; 
Sounds  for  aye  my  organ  blast, 
Grim  cathedral,  shaped  in  dreaming. 

"  Once  a  Lake,  and  next  a  Linn, 

Still  my  course  sinks  deeper;  boring 
Cleft  far  up  where  rays  steal  iu, 
That  as  '  Gullet '  once  was  roaring. 

"  For  three  thousand  years  or  more 

Savage  I,  none  praised  or  blamed  me ; 
Maiden's  hand  unbolts  my  door — 
Look  of  loveliness  hath  tamed  me. 

"  Maiden  mild,  this  level  path 

Emblem  is  of  her  bright  being; 
Long  through  discord,  darkness,  scath, 
Goes  she  helping,  ruling,  freeing. 

"  Thank  her,  wanderer,  as  thou  now 

Gazest  safe  through  gloom  so  dreary: 
Rough  things  plain  make  likewise  thou, 
And  of  well-doing  be  not  weary. 

"  '  Gullet '  one  day  cleft  shall  be, 

Crichope  cave  have  new  sunk  story ; 
Thousand  years  away  shall  flee — 
Flees  not  goodness  or  its  glory. 

'Ach  Gott,  wie  lahm,  wic  kruppel-lahm!'  " 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  215 

a  chimera?  Oh,  Jeannie!  But  enough.  If  I  am  happy,  art  not 
thou,  also,  happy  in  my  happiness?  Hope  all  things,  dearest,  and 
be  true  to  me  still,  as  thou  art.  And  so  felicissima  notte!  Sleep 
well,  for  it  is  now  midnight,  and  dream  of  me  if  thou  canst.  With 
best  love  to  mother  and  cousinkiu, 

"  Ever  thy  own  husband,  T.  CARLYLE." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbriy. 

"Craigenputtock:  September  20, 1833. 

"My  dear  Mother, — Jack,  as  you  will  find,  has  got  safe  over  the 
water,  and  begins  his  expedition  as  prosperously  as  could  be  de- 
sired. He  goes  into  Germany,  and  then  up  the  Rhine,  towards  the 
Swiss  Alps,  where  that  river  springs,  a  beautiful  road.  Most  likely 
he  will  pass  through  Constance,  where  our  noble  Huss  testified  to 
the  death.  He  may  tell  us  what  he  says  to  the  'scarlet  woman,' 
and  her  abominations  there !  You  and  I  shall  not  be  with  him  to 
lecture  from  that  text;  but  his  own  thoughts  (for  all  that  he  talks  so) 
will  do  it.  The  dumb  ashes  of  Huss  speak  louder  than  a  thousand 
sermons.  .  .  .  But  I  must  tell  you  something  of  myself;  for  I  know 
many  a  morning,  my  dear  mother,  you  '  come  in  by  me '  in  your 
rambles  through  the  world  after  those  precious  to  you.  If  you 
had  eyes  to  see  on  these  occasions,  you  would  find  everything  quite 
tolerable  here.  I  have  been  rather  busy,  though  the  fruit  of  my  work 
is  rather  inward,  and  has  little  to  say  for  itself.  I  have  yet  hard- 
ly put  pen  to  paper;  but  foresee  that  there  is  a  time  coming.  All 
my  griefs,  I  can  better  and  better  see,  lie  in  good  measure  at  my  own 
door  :  were  I  right  in  my  men  heart,  nothing  else  would  be  far  wrong 
with  me.  This,  as  you  well  understand,  is  true  of  every  mortal,  and  I 
advise  all  that  hear  me  to  believe  it,  and  to  lay  it  practically  to  their  own 
case.  On  the  whole,  I  am  promising  to  occupy  myself  more  whole- 
somely, and  to  be  happier  here  all  winter  than  I  have  been  of  late. 
Be  '  diligent  in  well-doing  ;'  that  is  the  only  secret  for  happiness  any- 
where :  not  a  universal  one  or  infallible  (so  long  as  we  continue  on 
earth),  yet  far  the  best  we  have. 

' '  For  the  last  two  weeks  Jane  has  been  away  from  me  at  Moff at. 
I  led  the  loneliest  life,  I  suppose,  of  any  human  creature  in  the  king's 
dominions,  yet  managed  wonderfully,  by  keeping  myself  continually 
at  work.  I  clomb  to  the  hill-top  on  Sabbath-day  for  my  walk,  and 
saw  Burnswark,  and  fancied  you  all  at  the  sermon  close  by.  On 
Monday  morning  I  went  over  to  Templand,  and  found  my  bit  wifie 
altogether  defaite — not  a  whit  better,  but  worse,  of  Moffat  and  its 
baths,  and  declaring  she  would  not  leave  me  so  soon  again  in  a  hurry. " 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"  October  1, 1833. 

' '  If  you  ask  what  I  have  performed  and  accomplished  for  myself, 
the  answer  might  look  rather  meagre.  I  have  not  yet  put  pen  to 
paper.  The  new  chapter  of  my  history,  as  yet,  lies  all  too  confused. 
I  look  round  on  innumerable  fluctuating  masses;  can  begin  to  build 
no  edifice  from  them.  However,  my  mind  is  not  empty,  which  is 
the  most  intolerable  state.  I  think  occasionally  with  energy;  I  read 
a  good  deal ;  I  wait,  not  without  hope.  What  other  can  I  do?  Look- 


216  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ing  back  over  the  last  seven  years,  I  wonder  at  myself;  looking  for- 
ward, were  there  not  a  fund  of  tragical  indifference  in  me,  I  could 
lose  head.  The  economical  outlook  is  so  complex,  the  spiritual  no 
less.  Alas!  the  thing  I  want  to  do  is  precisely  the  thing  I  cannot  do. 
My  mind  would  so  fain  deliver  itself  adequately  of  that  '  Divine  idea 
of  the  world,'  and  only  in  quite  inadequate  approximation  is  such 
deliverance  possible.  I  want  to  write  what  Teufelsdrockh  calls  a 
story  of  the  '  Time- Hat,'  to  show  forth  to  the  men  of  these  days  that 
they  also  live  in  the  age  of  miracles!  We  shall  see.  Meanwhile,  one 
of  the  subjects  that  engages  me  most  is  the  French  Revolution,  which, 
indeed,  for  us  is  the  subject  of  subjects.  My  chief  errand  to  Paris 
were  freer  inquiry  into  this.1  One  day,  if  this  mood  continues,  I 
may  have  something  of  my  own  to  say  on  it.  But  to  stick  nearer 
home.  I  have  as  good  as  engaged  with  myself  not  to  go  even  to 
Scotsbrig  till  I  have  written  something,  with  which  view  partly,  on 
Saturday  last,  I  determined  on  two  things  I  could  write  about  (there 
are  twenty  others  if  one  had  any  vehicles):  the  first,  'A  History  of 
the  Diamond  Necklace;'  the  next,  an  'Essay  on  the  Saint-Simoni- 
ans.'  I  even  wrote  off  to  Cochrane  as  diplomatically  as  I  could,  to 
ask  whether  they  would  suit  him.  Be  his  answer  what  it  may,4  I 
think  I  shall  fasten  upon  that  Necklace  business  (to  prove  myself  in 
the  narrative  style),  and  commence  it  (sending  for  books  from  Edin- 
burgh) in  some  few  days.  For  the  rest,  I  have  books  enough ;  your 
great  parcel  came  about  a  fortnight  ago.  I  have  already  read  what 
Mill  sent  for  me.  Finally,  yesterday  no  farther  gone,  I  drove  over 
to  Barjarg,3  in  the  middle  of  thick  small  rain,  to  get  the  keys  of  the 
library,  which  I  found  most  handsomely  left  for  me,  so  that  I  could 
seize  the  catalogue  and  some  half-dozen  volumes  to  return  at  discre- 
tion. It  is  really  a  very  great  favor;  there  are  various  important 


1  Carlyle  had  wished  to  spend  the  winter  in  Paris,  but  was  prevented  by  want  of 
means. 

2  The  answer  was  unfavorable.    All  editors,  from  this  time  forward,  gave  Carlyle  a 
cold  shoulder  till  the  appearance  of  the  "French  Revolution."    After  the  first  aston- 
ishment with  which  his  articles  had  been  received,  the  world  generally  had  settled  into 
the  view  taken  at  Edinburgh,  that  fine  talents,  which  no  one  had  denied  him,  were 
being  hopelessly  thrown  away — that  what  he  had  to  say  was  extravagant  nonsense. 
Whigs,  Tories,  and  Radicals  were  for  once  agreed.    He  was,  in  real  truth,  a  Bohemian, 
whose  hand  was  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand,  but  too  naturally,  was 
against  him,  and  the  battle  was  sadly  unequal.     If  Carlyle  had  possessed  the  peculiar 
musical  quality  which  makes  the  form  of  poetry,  his  thoughts  would  have  swept  into 
popularity  as  rapidly  and  as  widely  as  Byron's.     But  his  verse  was  wooden.     Rhymes 
and  metre  were  to  him  no  wings  on  which  to  soar  to  the  empyrean.     Happy  for  him 
in  the  end  that  it  was  so.     Poetry  in  these  days  is  read  for  pleasure.     It  is  not  taken 
to  heart  as  practical  truth.    Carlyle's  mission  %vas  that  of  a  prophet  and  teacher — aud 
a  prophet's  lessons  can  only  be  driven  home  by  prose. 

3  A  large  country-house  ten  miles  from  Craigenputtock,  the  library  of  which  had 
been  placed  at  Carlyle's  service.     Scotland  had  grown  curious  about  him,  however  cold 
or  hostile;  and  the  oddest  questions  were  asked  respecting  his  identity  and  history. 
Henry  Inglis,  an  Edinburgh  friend,  writes  to  Mrs.  Carlyle:  '-Swift.  I  think  it  is.  who 
says,  'Truly  you  may  know  a  great  man  by  the  crowd  of  blockheads  who  press  round 
and  endeavor  to  obstruct  his  path.'    A  blockhead  of  my  acquaintance  (I  have  an  ox- 
tensive  acquaintance  among  them)  chose  to  ask  me  the  other  day  whether  the  Carl)  lo 
who  screams  hebdomadally  in  the  church  in  Carruthers  Close  was  our  Carlyle.     I  con- 
sider such  a  remark  almost  equal  to  receiving  the  hand  of  fellowship  from  C-oethe.     It 
is  nearly  the  same  thing  to  be  the  disclaimed  or  the  misunderstood  of  an  Ass,  and  the 
acknowledged  of  a  Prophet."    The  Barjarg  acknowledgment  of  Carlyle's  merits  was  a 
kind  more  honorable  to  its  owner. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  217 

works  there,  reading  which  I  am  far  better  than  at  any  university. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  free  access  to  some  kind  of  book- 
collection.  I,  a  book-man !  One  way  and  another  we  look  forward 
to  a  cheerfullish  kind  of  winter  here. 

"  I  will  try  for  Winckelmann.  ...  In  my  heterodox  heart  there  is 
yearly  growing  up  the  strangest,  crabbed,  one-sided  persuasion,  that 
art  is  but  a  reminiscence  now;  that  for  us  in  these  days  prophecy 
(well  understood),  not  poetry,  is  the  thing  wanted.  How  can  we 
sing  and  paint  when  we  do  not  yet  believe  and  see  ?  There  is  some 
considerable  truth  in  this;  how  much  I  have  not  yet  fixed.  Now, 
what,  under  such  point  of  view,  is  all  existing  art  and  study  of  art? 
What  was  the  great  Goethe  himself?  The  greatest  of  contemporary 
men;  who,  however,  is  not  to  have  any  followers,  and  should  not 
have  any. " 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"  October  28. — No  man  in  modern  times,  perhaps  no  man  in  any 
time,  ever  came  through  more  confusion  with  less  imputation  against 
him  than  Lafayette.  None  can  accuse  him  of  variableness;  he  has 
seen  the  world  change  like  a  conjurer's  pasteboard  world;  fie  stands 
there  unchanged  as  a  stone  pillar  in  the  midst  of  it.  Does  this  prove 
him  a  great  man,  a  good  man  ?  Nowise ;  perhaps  only  a  limited  man. " 

"The  difference  between  Socrates  and  Jesus  Christ!  The  great 
Conscious;  the  immeasurably  great  Unconscious.  The  one  cun- 
ningly manufactured ;  the  other  created,  living,  and  life-giving.  The 
epitome  this  of  a  grand  and  fundamental  diversity  among  men.  Did 
any  truly  great  man  ever  go  through  the  world  without  offence — all 
rounded  in  so  that  the  current  moral  systems  could  find  no  fault  in 
him?  Most  likely,  never." 

"Washington  is  another  of  our  perfect  characters;  to  me  a  most 
limited,  uninteresting  sort.  The  thing  is  not  only  to  avoid  error,  but 
to  attain  immense  masses  of  truth.  The  ultra-sensual  surrounds 
the  sensual  and  gives  it  meaning,  as  eternity  does  time.  Do  I  un- 
derstand this?  Yes,  partly,  I  do." 

"  If  I  consider  it  well,  there  is  hardly  any  book  in  the  world  that 
lias  sunk  so  deep  into  me  as  '  Reinecke  Fuchs. '  It  co-operates  with 
other  tendencies.  Perhaps  my  whole  speculation  about  'clothes' 
arose  out  of  that.  It  now  absolutely  haunts  me,  often  very  pain- 
fully, and  in  shapes  that  I  will  not  write  even  here. 

"  Yet,  again,  how  beautiful,  how  true,  is  this  other:  'Man  is  an 
incarnate  word !'  Both  these  I  habitually  feel. " 

"  '  This  little  life-boat  of  a  world,  with  its  noisy  crew  of  a  man- 
kind, '  vanishing  '  like  a  cloud-speck  from  the  azure  of  the  All. '  How 
that  thought  besieges  me,  elevating  and  annihilating !  What  is 
'  fame?'  What  is  life?" 

"All  barriers  are  thrown  down  before  me;  but  then,  also,  all 
tracks  and  points  of  support.  I  look  hesitatingly,  almost  bewilder- 
edly,  into  a  confused  sea.  The  necessity  of  caution  suggests  itself. 
Hope  diminished  burns  not  the  less  brightly,  like  a  star  of  hope. 

II.— 10 


218  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CABLYLE. 

Que  fairef     Que  devenir?    Cannot  answer.    It  is  not  I  only  that 
must  answer,  but  Necessity  and  I." 

"Meanwhile,  this  reading  is  like  a  kind  of  manuring  compost 
partly,  of  which  my  mind  had  need.  Be  thankful  that  thou  hast  it, 
that  thou  hast  time  for  applying  it.  In  economics  I  can  yet  hold  out 
for  a  number  of  months. " 

"  Friday,  November  1. — What  a  time  one  loses  in  these  winter 
days  lighting  fires!  lighting  candles!  I  am  in  the  dining-room, which 
would  fain  smoke,  for  it  blows  a  perfect  storm.  Twelve  o'clock  is 
at  hand,  and  not  a  word  down  yet! 

"Edinburgh  Review  came  last  night.  A  smart,  vigorous  paper 
by  Macaulay  on  Horace  Walpole.  Ambitious;  too  antithetic;  the 
heart  of  the  matter  not  struck.  What  will  that  man  become?  He 
has  more  force  and  emphasis  in  him  than  any  other  of  my  British 
contemporaries  (coevals).  Wants  the  root  of  belief,  however.  May 
fail  to  accomplish  much.  Let  us  hope  better  things." 

' '  How  confused,  helpless ;  how  dispirited,  impotent ;  how  miser- 
able am  I!  The  world  is  so  vast  and  complex;  my  duty  in  it  will 
not  in  the  least  disclose  itself.  One  has  to  shape  and  to  be  shaped. 
It  is  all  a  perplexed  imbroglio,  and  you  have  by  toil  and  endeavor  to 
shape  it.  '  Nothing  would  ever  come  to  me  in  my  sleep !' " 

"Vain  to  seek  a  '  theory  of  virtue;'  to  plague  one's  self  with  spec- 
ulations about  such  a  thing.  Virtue  is  like  health — the  harmony  of 
the  whole  man.  Some  property  of  it  traceable  hi  every  part  of  the 
man;  its  complete  character  only  in  the  whole  man.  Mark  this:  it 
is  not  far  from  the  truth,  and,  as  I  think  it,  nearer  than  as  I  here  ex- 
press it." 

"My  mode  of  writing  for  the  last  two  days  quite  the  old  one,  and 
very  far  from  the  right.  How  alter  it?  It  must  be  altered.  Could 
I  not  write  more  as  I  do  here  ?  My  style  is  like  no  other  man's. 
The  first  sentence  bewrays  me.  How  wrong  is  that?  Mannerism 
at  least!" 

"  Shall  I  go  to  London  and  deliver  a  course  of  lectures?  Shall  I 
endeavor  to  write  a  '  Time-Hat '  ?  Shall  I  write  a  Life  of  Bonaparte? 
A  French  Revolution?  The  decease  of  bookselling  perplexes  me. 
Will  ever  a  good  book  henceforth  be  paid  for  by  the  public?  Per- 
haps; perhaps  not.  Never  more,  in  general.  Quefaire?  Live  and 
struggle.  And  so  now  to  work." 

The  dejected  tone  so  visible  in  these  entries  was  due  to  no  idle 
speculative  distress,  but  to  the  menacing  aspect  which  circumstances 
were  beginning  to  assume.  The  editors  and  booksellers  were  too 
evidently  growing  shy;  and  unless  articles  could  find  insertion  or 
books  be  paid  for,  no  literary  life  for  Carlyle  would  long  be  possible. 
Employment  of  some  other  kind,  however  humble  and  distasteful, 
would  have  to  be  sought  for  and  accepted.  Anything,  even  the 
meanest,  would  be  preferable  to  courting  popularity,  and  writing 
less  than  the  very  best  that  he  could;  writing  '  dads,'  as  he  called  it, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  219 

to  please  the  popular  taste.  An  experienced  publisher  once  said  to 
me:  "  Sir,  if  you  wish  to  write  a  book  which  will  sell,  consider  the 
ladies'  maids.  Please  the  ladies'  maids,  you  please  the  great  reading 
world."  Carlyle  would  not,  could  not,  write  for  ladies'  maids. 

The  dreary  monotony  of  the  Craigenputtock  life  on  these  terms 
was  interrupted  in  November  by  interesting  changes  in  the  family 
arrangements.  The  Carlyles,  as  has  been  more  than  once  said,  were 
a  family  whose  warmest  affections  were  confined  fo  their  own  cir- 
cle. Jean,  the  youngest  sister,  the  "little  crow,"  was  about  to  be 
married  to  her  cousin,  James  Aitken,  who  had  once  lived  at  Scots- 
brig,  and  was  now  a  rising  tradesman  in  Dumfries ;  a  house-painter 
by  occupation,  of  a  superior  sort,  and  possessed  of  talents  in  that 
department  which,  with  better  opportunities,  might  have  raised  him 
to  eminence  as  an  artist.  "James  Aitken,"  Carlyle  wrote,  "is  an 
ingenious,  clever  kind  of  fellow,  with  fair  prospects,  no  bad  habit, 
and  perhaps  very  great  skill  in  his  craft.  I  saw  a  copied  Ruys- 
dael  of  his  doing  which  amazed  me."  The  "crow"  had  not  fol- 
lowed up  the  poetical  promise  of  her  childhood.  She  had  edu- 
cated herself  into  a  clear,  somewhat  stern,  well-informed,  and  sensi- 
ble woman.  Hard  Annandale  farm-work  had  left  her  no  time  for 
more.  But,  like  all  the  Carlyles,  she  was  of  a  rugged,  independent 
temper.  Jean,  her  mother  said,  was  outgrowing  the  contracted 
limits  of  the  Scotsbrig  household.  Her  marriage  consequently 
gave  satisfaction  to  all  parties.  Carlyle  himself  was  present  at  the 
ceremony.  "A  cold  mutton-pie  of  gigantic  dimensions"  was  con- 
sumed for  the  breakfast;  "  the  stirrup-cup  "  was  drunk,  Carlyle  join- 
ing, and  this  domestic  matter  was  happily  ended. 

But  Jean's  marriage  was  not  all.  James  Carlyle,  the  youngest 
brother,  who  carried  on  the  Scotsbrig  farm,  had  a  similar  scheme  on 
foot,  and  had  for  himself  fallen  in  love;  "nothing  since  Werter's 
time  equalling  the  intensity  of  his  devotion."  He,  too,  was  eager  to 
be  married;  but,  as  this  arrangement  would  affect  his  mother's  posi- 
tion, Carlyle,  as  the  eldest  of  the  family,  had  to  interfere  to  prevent 
precipitancy.  All  was  well  settled  in  the  following  spring,  Carlyle 
making  fresh  sacrifices  to  bring  it  about.  His  brother  Alick  owed 
him  more  than  2001.  This,  if  it  could  be  paid,  or  when  it  could  be 
paid,  was  to  be  added  to  his  younger  brother's  fortune.  His  mother 
was  either  to  continue  at  Scotsbrig,  or  some  new  home  was  to  be 
found  for  her,  which  Carlyle  himself  thought  preferable.  His  letter 
to  the  intending  bridegroom  will  be  read  with  an  interest  which  ex- 
tends beyond  its  immediate  subject. 

"You  have  doubtless  considered  [he  said]  that  such  an  engage- 
ment must  presuppose  one  condition :  our  mother  and  sisters  form- 
ing some  other  establishment  also.  I  should  not  be  surprised,  in- 
deed, if  you  had  fancied  that  our  mother  and  your  wife  might  try 


220  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

to  live  together  at  Scotsbrig;  but  depend  upon  it,  my  dear  brother, 
this  will  never  and  in  no  case  do.  The  house  must  belong  to  your 
wife  from  the  instant  she  sets  foot  in  it;  neither  mother  nor  sister 
must  any  longer  be  there  to  contest  it  with  her.  The  next  question 
then  for  all  of  us,  and  for  you  too,  is,  What  will  my  mother  and  the 
two  lassies  do?  I  have  thought  of  it  often;  and  though  changes  are 
always  grievous,  I  think  there  are  means  to  get  a  new  way  of  life 
devised  for  our  dear  mother  and  those  who  yet  need  her  guidance, 
and  see  them  supported  without  burdening  any  one.  They  must 
have,  of  course,  a  habitation  of  their  own.  With  my  mother's 
money,  with  the  interest  of  the  girls'  money,  with  mine  (or  what  was 
Alick's,  now  in  your  hands),  which  I  think  of  adding  to  it,  they  will 
be  able  to  live  decently  enough,  I  think,  if  we  can  be  judicious  in 
choosing  some  place  for  them. 

"In  this  latter  ' if ,' however,  you  yourself  see  that  Martinmas  is 
by  no  means  the  fit  time;  that  Whitsunday,  the  universal  term-day 
of  the  country,  is  the  soonest  they  can  be  asked  to  find  new  quarters. 
Now,  as  your  wife  cannot  be  brought  home  to  Scotsbrig  before  that 
time,  my  decided  advice  were  that  you  did  not  wed  till  then.  I  un- 
derstand what  wonderful  felicities  young  men  like  you  expect  from 
marriage;  I  know  too  (for  it  is  a  truth  as  old  as  the  world)  that  such 
expectations  hold  out  but  for  a  little  while.  I  shall  rejoice  much 
(such  is  my  experience  of  the  world)  if  in  your  new  situation  you 
feel  as  happy  as  in  the  old;  say  nothing  of  happier.  But,  in  any 
case,  do  I  not  know  that  you  will  never  (whatever  happens)  venture 
on  any  such  solemn  engagement  with  a  direct  duty  to  fly  in  the  face 
of? — the  duty,  namely,  of  doing  to  your  dear  mother  and  your  dear 
sisters  as  you  would  wish  that  they  should  do  to  you.  Believe  me,  my 
dear  brother,  wait.  Half  a  year  for  such  an  object  is  not  long ! 
If  you  ever  repent  so  doing,  blame  me  for  it. 

"  And  so  now,  my  dear  James,  you  have  it  all  before  you,  and  can 
consider  what  you  will  do.  Do  nothing  that  is  seljisfi,  nothing  that 
you  cannot  front  the  world  and  the  world's  Maker  upon !  May  He 
direct  you  right." 

Carlyle,  perhaps,  judged  of  possibilities  by  his  own  recollections. 
He,  when  it  would  have  added  much  to  his  own  wife's  happiness, 
and  might  have  shielded  her  entirely  from  the  worst  of  her  suffer- 
ings, had  refused  peremptorily  to  live  with  her  mother,  or  let  her 
live  with  them,  except  on  impossible  terms.  He  knew  himself  and 
his  peremptory  disposition,  and  in  that  instance  was  probably  right. 
His  own  mother  happily  found  such  an  arrangement  not  impossible. 
Her  son  married,  and  she  did  not  leave  her  home,  but  lived  out  there 
her  long  and  honored  life,  and  ended  it  under  the  old  roof. 

Carlyle  himself,  meanwhile,  was  soon  back  again  with  his  "Dia- 
mond Necklace  "  and  his  proof-sheets  of  "  Teufelsdrockh  "  at  Craig- 
enputtock,  where  his  winter  life  stands  pictured  in  his  correspond- 
ence. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  221 


To  John  Carlyle. 

"Craigenputtock:  November  18, 1833. 

"I  will  now  record  for  you  a  little  smallest  section  of  universal 
history:  the  scene  still  Aunandale.  The  Tuesday  after  the  wedding 
I  sate  correcting  the  second  portion  of  '  Teuf  elsdrockh '  for  Fr cuter" a 
Magazine,  but  towards  night  Alick,  according  to  appointment,  ar- 
rived with  his  'little  black  mare'  to  drive  me  'somewhither'  next 
day.  We  after  some  consultation  made  it  Annan,  and  saw  our- 
selves there  about  one  o'clock.  A  damp,  still  afternoon,  quite  No- 
vemberish  and  pensive  -  making.  The  look  of  those  old  familiar 
houses,  the  jow  of  the  old  bell,  went  far  into  my  heart.  A  strug- 
gling funeral  proceeded  up  the  street;  Senhouse  Nelson  (now  Re- 
form Bill  Provost),  with  Banker  Scott,  in  such  priggish  clothes  as  he 
wears,  and  two  others  of  the  like,  stood  on  Benson's  porch  stairs 
gazing  into  inanity.  Annan  still  stood  there:  and  I — here.  Ben 
was  from  home;  his  little  son  gone  to  London,  the  maid  thought, 
into  some  hospital,  some  navy  appointment,  into  she  knew  not  what. 
Finally,  we  determined  on  seeking  out  Waugh.1  Old  Marion,  as 
clean  and  dour  as  ever,  hobblingly  admitted  us.  There  sate  the  doctor, 
grizzle-locked  (since  I  saw  him),  yellow,  wrinkled,  forlorn,  and  out- 
cast-looking, with  beeswax  and  other  tailor  or  botcher  apparatus  on 
a  little  table,  the  shell  of  an  old  coat  lying  dismembered  on  the  floor; 
another  not  yet  so  condemnable,  which  with  his  own  hand  he  was 
struggling  to  rehabilitate  ;  a  new  cuff  I  saw  (after  he  had  huddled 
the  old  vestment  on),  evidently  of  his  own  making;  the  front  button- 
holes had  all  exploded,  a  huge  rent  lay  under  one  armpit,  extending 
over  the  back;  the  coat  demanded  mending,  since  turning  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  There  sate  he;  into  such  last  corner  (with  the  pale 
winter  sun  looking  through  on  him)  had  ScMcksal  und  eigne  8chuld 
hunted  the  ill-starred  Waugh.  For  the  first  time,  I  was  truly  woe  for 
him.  He  talked,  too,  with  such  meekness,  yet  is  still  mad ;  talking 
of  1200J.  to  be  made  by  a  good  comedy,  and  such  like.  When  we 
came  out  (since  the  state  of  his  coat  would  not  allow  him  to  come 
with  us)  Alick  and  I  settled  that  at  least  we  would  assure  ourselves 
of  his  having  food ;  Alick,  therefore,  got  twenty  shillings  to  take  him 
four  hundredweight  of  potatoes  and  eight  stone  of  meal;  three 
fourths  of  which  have  been  already  handed  in  (without  explana- 
tion); the  rest  will  follow  at  Candlemas.  So  goes  it  in  native  An- 
nandale.  A  hundred  times  since  has  that  picture  of  Waugh,  botch- 
ing his  old  coat  at  the  cottage  window,  stranded  and  cast  out  from 
the  whole  occupied  earth,  risen  in  my  head  with  manifold  meaning." 
His  '  Prophecy  Book '  has  not  paid  its  expenses.  His  '  Pathology ' 
the  Longmans,  very  naturally,  would  not  have.  I  endeavored  to 
convince  him  that  literature  was  hopeless,  doubly  and  trebly  hope- 

'  Son  of  a  thriving  citizen  of  Annan,  who  had  been  Carlyle's  contemporary  and  fellow- 
student  at  Edinburgh,  a  friend  of  Irving,  at  whose  rooms,  indeed,  Carlyle  first  became 
acquainted  with  Irving  :  who.  with  money,  connections,  and  supposed  talents,  had 
studied  medicine,  taken  his  degree,  and  was  considered  to  have  the  brightest  prospoc  ts ; 
had  gone  into  literature,  among  other  adventures;  and  now,  between  vanity  and  ill- 
fortune,  had  drifted  into  what  is  here  described. 

a  The  fate  of  unsuccessful  '-literature." 


222  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

less  for  him.  Further  advice  I  did  not  like  to  urge;  my  sole  con- 
solation is  to  know  that  for  the  present  he  has  plenty  of  meal  and 
potatoes,  and  salt  cheap.  Perhaps  it  is  likely  he  will  fall  into  his 
mother's  state,  let  an  indolent  insanity  get  the  mastery  over  him,  and 
spend  his  time  mostly  in  bed.  I  rather  traced  some  symptoms  of 
that:  Oott  behute. 

"  Here  at  Craigenputtock  everything  is  in  its  stillest  condition.  I 
have  read  many  books,  put  through  me  a  vast  multitude  of  thoughts 
unutterable  and  utterable.  In  health  we  seem  to  improve,  especial- 
ly .Iain-kin.  We  have  realized  a  shower-bath  at  Dumfries,  and  erect- 
ed it  in  the  room  over  this;  the  little  dame  fearlessly  plunges  it  over 
her  in  coldest  mornings.  I  have  had  it  only  twice.  Further,  of  ex- 
ternal things,  know  that  by  science  I  extracted  the  dining-room  lock, 
had  it  repaired,  and  now  it  shuts  like  a  Christian  lock!  This  is  small 
news,  yet  great.  In  my  little  library  are  two  bell-ropes  (brass  wire 
and  curtain-ring),  the  daintiest  you  ever  saw ;  finally,  the  '  Segretario 
Ambulante '  in  fittest  framing  hangs  right  behind  my  back  (midway 
between  the  doors  and  the  fire)  and  looks  beautiful;  really  the  piece 
of  art  I  take  most  pleasure  in  of  all  my  Kunst-  Vorrath.  He  is  a  de- 
lightful fellow;  shows  you  literature  in  its  simplest,  quite  steadfast 
condition,  below  which  it  cannot  sink.  My  own  portrait  was  to  have 
been  framed  similarly  and  hung  by  him  as  counterpart ;  but  Jane 
has  put  in  rosewood  and  gilding,  much  to  my  dislike,  and  it  hangs 
now  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  (in  the  drawing-room),  and  keeps 
mostly  out  of  my  sight.  If  you  think  that  our  piano  will  still  act, 
that  one  reach  of  the  peat-stack  is  carried  in,  and  all  else  in  its  old 
state,  you  may  fancy  us  all  tight  and  right,  so  far  as  the  case  of  life 
goes.  As  to  the  kernel  or  spiritual  part,  there  can  hardly  any  de- 
scription be  given,  so  much  of  it  has  not  yet  translated  itself  into 
words.  I  am  quiet;  not  idle,  not  unhappy;  by  God's  blessing  shall 
yet  see  how  I  can  turn  myself.  Cochrane  refuses  both  my  project- 
ed articles.  I  have  nevertheless  written  the  '  Diamond  Necklace ;' 
at  least,  it  is  rough-hewn  in  the  drawer  here,  and  only  these  mar- 
riages have  kept  me  from  finishing  it.  The  other  article  I  could  not 
now  have  undertaken  to  write,  the  Saint-Simonians,  as  you  may  per- 
haps know,  having  very  unexpectedly  come  to  light  again,  and  set 
to  giving  missionary  lectures  of  a  most  questionable  sort  in  London. 
Mill  is  not  there  to  tell  me  about  them,  but  in  Paris ;  so  I  can  under- 
stand nothing  of  it,  except  that  they  are  not  to  be  written  of,  being 
once  more  in  the  fermenting  state.  Cochrane  and  I  have  probably 
enough  done;  but,  as  Wull  Brown  says,  'perhaps  it  is  just  as  well; 
for  I  firmly  intended,  etc. '  I  believe  I  must  go  back  ere  long  and 
look  at  London  again.  In  the  meantime  learn,  study,  read;  con- 
sider thy  ways  and  be  wise!  '  Teufelsdrockh,'  as  was  hinted,  is 
coming  out  in  Fraser — going  'to  pot'  probably,  yet  not  without 
leaving  me  some  money,  not  without  making  me  quit  of  him.  To 
it  again !  Try  it  once  more !  Alick  was  here  since  Saturday ;  came 
up  with  two  sacks  of  old  oats  for  Harry;  went  away  this  morning 
with  a  load  of  wood,  etc.  Not  till  Saturday  last  did  we  hear  a  word 
from  the  Advocate.  He  now  writes  to  Jane  in  the  frostiest,  most 
frightened  manner;  makes  honorable  mention  of  you;  to  me  he 
hardly  alludes  except  from  a  far  distance.  Jane  will  have  it  that  he 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  223 

took  many  things  to  himself  in  the  article  'Diderot, 'a  possible 
thing,  which  corresponds,  too,  with  the  cessation  of  his  letters.  I 
love  the  Advocate,  and  partially  pity  him,  and  will  write  to  him  in 
such  choicest  mood  as  I  can  command  at  present." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Decembers,  1833. 

"My  dear  Mother, — I  hope  JSTotman  delivered  you  the  pills,  so 
stupidly  forgotten.  The  hasty  scrawl  that  went  with  them  would 
signify  that  we  were  here  and  little  more ;  I  was  hardly  this  twelve- 
month in  such  a  hurry.  Since  then  all  goes  on  as  it  was  doing;  in 
spite  of  this  most  disastrous  weather,  the  worst  we  have  had  for 
long,  we  indeed  sit  snug  and  defy  the  tempest ;  but  Macadam's  sta- 
ble-slates jingling  off  from  time  to  time  suggest  to  us  what  many  are 
suffering;  some,  doubtless,  far  out  in  the  '  wide  and  wasteful  main.' 
Both  Jane  and  I  go  walking  by  night,  if  not  by  day,  if  there  is  a 
gleam  of  clearness.  I  take  now  and  then  a  kind  of  deck-walk  to  and 
fro  at  the  foot  of  the  avenue,  in  a  spot  where  you  know  the  wood 
shelters  one  from  all  winds  that  can  blow. 

"  We  saw  Jean  and  her  man  and  household  as  we  passed  through 
Dumfries;  it  was  all  looking  right  enough;  one  could  hope  that  they 
might  do  very  well  there.  Aitken,  I^find,  by  a  picture  over  his 
mantel-piece,  has  quite  another  talent  for  painting  than  I  gave  him 
the  smallest  credit  for;  it  is  really  a  surprising  piece  to  have  been 
executed  there.  Ae  to  Jean,  we  have  always  known  her  as  a  most 
reasonable,  clear,  and  resolute  little  creature;  of  her,  in  all  scenes 
and  situations,  good  is  to  be  anticipated.  So  we  will  wish  them 
heartily  a  blessing  with  hope. 

"  Ever  since  Alick  left  us  I  have  been  writing  with  all  my  old  ve- 
hemence. This  day,  too,  insisted  on  doing  my  task.  It  is  about  the 
'  Diamond  Necklace, '  that  story  you  heard  some  hint  of  in  Caglios- 
tro ;  we  shall  see  what  it  turns  to.  I  am  in  the  drawing-room  to- 
night, with  my  big  table  (and  side  half  to  the  fire,  which  is  hot 
enough);  Jane  at  my  back  also  writing;  what  she  will  not  tell  me. 
We  have  been  here  together  these  three  days ;  the  rain  had  run  down 
the  vents  actually  in  large  streams  and  damped  everything.  This  is 
what  I  call  descriptive  minuteness.  Let  me  also  say  I  have  been 
reading  in  poor  Waugh's  book,  and  find  your  opinion  of  it  verified ; 
it  is  actually  '  far  better  than  one  could  have  expected, '  and  contains 
some  interesting  things.  Poor  Waugh!  Poor  fellow — after  all! 

"  Alick's  little  letter  (one  of  the  smallest  I  ever  read,  but  not  the 
emptiest)  informed  us  of  what  had  been  passing  at  Catlinns,  and  that 
you  were  there,  he  said,  well.  Have  you  returned  from  the  expedi- 
tion still  well?  I  cannot  too  often  impress  on  you  the  danger  of 
winter  weather;  you  have  a  tendency  to  apprehension  for  every  one 
but  yourself.  Catlinns  is  not  a  good  place  in  winter,  and  were  Jen- 
ny not  the  healthiest  of  women,  must  have  been  very  trying  for  her. 

"But  there  is  another  expedition,  my  dear  mother,  to  which  you 
are  bound,  which  I  hope  you  are  getting  ready  for.  Come  up  with 
Austin  and  Mary  to  Jean;  stay  with  her  till  you  rest;  sending  me 
up  word  when;  on  Wednesday  or  any  other  day  I  will  come  driving 
down  and  fetch  you.  In  about  a  week  hence,  as  I  calculate,  I  shall 


224  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

be  done  with  this  scribblement,  and  then  we  can  read  together  and 
talk  together  and  walk  together.  Besides,  this,  in  the  horrid  winter 
weather,  is  a  better  lodging  for  you  than  any  other,  and  we  will  take 
better  care  of  you — we  promise.  The  blue  room  shall  be  dry  as  fire 
can  make  it;  no  such  drying,  except  those  you  make  at  Scotsbrig, 
where  on  one  occasion,  as  I  remember,  you  spent  the  whole  time  of 
my  visit  in  drying  my  clothes.  Lastly,  that  when  '  you  come  you 
may  come.'  Jane  bids  me  communicate  to  Jamie  that  she  wants 
three  stone  of  meal,  but  will  not  take  it  unless  he  take  pay  for  it. 

"And  so,  dear  mother,  this  scribble  must  end,  as  others  have 
done.  To-morrow,  I  believe,  is  my  eight -and-thirtieth  birthday! 
You  were  then  young  in  life :  I  had  not  yet  entered  it.  Since  then — 
how  much!  how  much!  They  are  in  the  land  of  silence  (but,  while 
we  live,  not  of  f  orgetfulness ! )  whom  we  once  knew,  and,  often 
with  thoughts  too  deep  for  words,  wistfully  ask  of  their  and  our 
Father  above  that  we  may  again  know.  God  is  great;  God  is  good! 
It  is  written  '  He  will  wipe  away  all  tears  from  every  eye. '  Be  it  as 
He  wills,  not  as  we  wish.  These  things  continually  almost  dwell 
with  me,  loved  figures  hovering  in  the  background  or  foreground  of 
my  mind.  A  few  years  more  and  we  too  shall  be  with  them  in  eter- 
nity. Meanwhile  it  is  this  Time  that  is  ours:  let  us  be  busy  with  it 
and  work,  work,  for  the  night  cometh. 

"  I  send  you  all,  young  and' old,  my  heart's  blessing,  and  remain 
as  ever,  my  dear  mother,  Your  affectionate 

•  "T.  CARLYLE." 

To  John  Carlyle,  Rome. 

"  Craigenputtock :  December  24, 1833. 

"My  dear  Brother, — The  description  you  give  us  of  your  Roman 
life  is  copious  and  clear:  very  gratifying  to  us;  such  matter  as  we 
like  best  to  see  in  your  letter.  For  myself,  however,  I  can  discern, 
what  perhaps  our  good  mother  does  not  so  well,  that  with  all  favor- 
able circumstances  you  have  need  of  your  philosophy  there.  Alas ! 
all  modes  of  existence  need  such :  we  are,  once  for  all,  '  in  a  condi- 
tional world. '  Your  great  grievance  doubtless  is  that  properly  your 
office  gives  you  nothing  to  do.  Three  hundred  a  year  with  sump- 
tuous accommodation  you  have,  but  that  is  all.  The  days  have  to 
fly  over  you,  and  you  seem  to  remain,  as  it  were,  wind-bound ;  little 
more  than  an  article  of  aristocratic  state  so  far  as  your  own  house- 
hold goes.  This  I  can  well  see  and  sympathize  in.  It  is  hard,  in- 
deed, and  grating  to  one's  love  of  action ;  a  thing  intolerable,  did  it 
threaten  to  continue  forever.  But  you  are  no  longer  a  headstrong 
youth,  but  grown  a  deliberate  man.  Accordingly,  I  see  you  adjust 
yourself  to  this  also,  from  this  also  gather  nourishment  and  strength. 
You  are  equipping  yourself  (in  that  strange  way,  so  it  was  ordered) 
for  your  life  voyage;  patience,  and  the  anchor  is  lifted.  In  the 
meanwhile,  too,  you  know  well  no  situation  imposes  on  us  the  ne- 
cessity of  idleness ;  if  not  in  one  way,  if  not  in  one  of  a  hundred 
ways,  you  will  work  in  the  hundred  and  first.  Continue,  I  beg  you, 
to  be  mild,  and  either  tolerant  or  silently  intolerant.  Let  them  go 
their  way :  go  thou  thine.  What  medical  practice  is  to  be  come  at, 
eagerly  take.  In  defect  of  this,  read  your  Winckelmann,  or  any 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  225 

other  solid  book  most  appropriate  to  the  place;  converse  with  all 
manner  of  mortals  whose  knowledge,  as  above  ignorance,  can  di- 
rectly or  indirectly  teach  you  aught.  I  should  prefer  Romans,  I 
think,  to  any  such  a  set  of  English  as  you  have;  in  any  case,  if  it  is 
a  man,  and  not  a  shadow  of  a  man,  one  can  get  some  good  of  him. 
My  poor  '  Segretario  Ambulante,'  actually  converting  disorder  into 
order  here  in  a  small  way,  and  realizing  victual  for  himself,  is 
worth  a  hundred  mere  Clothes-horses  and  Patent  Digesters,  by 
what  glorious  name  soever  they  may  call  themselves,  that  either 
do  nothing,  or  the  reverse  of  doing,  which  is  even  lower  than 
nothing.  Patience,  therefore,  my  dear  brother  !  Ohne  Hast  aber 
ohne  Rast.  Let  the  cooks  boil,  and  the  tailors  sew,  and  the  shovel- 
hat  emit  weekly  his  modicum  of  dish-water  disguised  as  water  of 
life ;  it  is  all  in  the  course  of  nature :  '  like  the  crane's  hoarse  jingling 
flight  that  over  our  heads  in  long-drawn  shriek  sends  down  its 
creaking  gabble,  and  tempts  the  silent  wanderer  that  he  look  aloft 
at  them  a  moment.  These  go  their  way  and  he  goes  his;  so  like- 
wise shall  it  be  with  us.' 

"And  so  now  for  a  little  Dumfriesshire  news.  Our  good  mother 
continues  in  her  old  state  of  health,  or  rather  better,  as  they  report 
to  me.  I  expect  her  about  Wednesday  week.  Austin  and  Mary l 
will  bring  her  to  Jean's,  and  then  on  some  appointed  day  I  go  down 
to  fetch  her  with  the  gig.  Austin  can  find  no  farm,  he  told  us. 
What  arrangement  he  will  make  for  the  coming  year  is  not  yet 
apparent.  Many  a  time,  I  think,  the  foolish  creatures,  had  they 
known  better  what  stuff  hope  is  made  of,  might  as  well  have  stayed 
where  they  were.  But,  at  any  rate,  it  was  a  change  to  be  made — 
whether  to-day  or  to-morrow  is  perhaps  of  little  moment.  A  kind 
of  sadness  naturally  came  over  our  mother's  mind  at  this  new  proof 
of  terrestrial  vicissitude,  but  withal  she  is  quite  peaceful  and  reso- 
lute, having  indeed  a  deeper  basis  than  earth  and  its  vicissitudes  to 
stand  upon.  I  hardly  know  now  another  person  in  the  world  that 
so  entirely  believes  and  acts  on  her  belief.  Doubt  not  that  all  will 
shape  itself,  or  be  shapen,  in  some  tolerable  way.  Jean,  as  you 
heard,  is  in  her  own  house  at  Lochmaben  Gate;  to  all  appearances 
doing  perfectly  well.  Alick  has  got  a  new  son,  whom  he  has 
named,  or  purposes  naming,  Tom,  after  me.  He  can  get  along 
amid  the  black  mud  acres  of  Catlinns,  but  with  a  continual  struggle. 
One  of  his  day-dreams  for  many  a  year  has  been  America.  I  have 
ceased  to  oppose  it  so  firmly  of  late;  indeed,  I  often  enough  think 
what  if  I  should  go  to  America  myself  !  Thousands  and  millions 
must  yet  go;  it  is  properly  but  another  section  of  our  own  country, 
though  they  rebelled  very  justly  against  George  Guelph,  and  bout 
him,  as  they  ought.  WTe  shall  do  or  determine  nothing  rashly,  the 
rather  as  for  the  present  nothing-presses. 

"As  for  Craigenputtock,  it  stands  here  in  winter  grimness,  in 
winter  seclusion.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  violence  of  the  Decem- 
ber weather  we  have  had ;  trees  uprooted,  Macadam  slates  jingling 
down,  deluges  of  rain:  Friday,  in  particular,  did  immense  mischief 
to  ships  and  edifices  all  over  the  island ;  such  a  day  as  has  not  been 

1  Carlyle's  sister. 
II.— 9* 


226  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

seen  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  they  say.  We  nestled  ourselves 
down  here:  'better  a  wee  bush  than  no  bield.'  The  shortest  day  is 
now  behind  us;  we  shall  look  forward  to  a  spring  which  will  be  all 
the  gladder.  I  continue  to  read  great  quantities  of  books.  I  have 
also,  with  an  effort,  accomplished  the  projected  piece  on  the  Dia- 
mond Necklace.  It  was  finished  this  day  week;  really,  a  queer 
kind  of  thing,  of  some  forty  and  odd  pages.  Jane,  at  first,  thought 
we  should  print  it  at  our  own  charges,  set  our  name  on  it,  and 
send  it  out  in  God's  name.  Neither  she  nor  I  are  now  so  sure  of 
this,  but  will  consider  it.  My  attempt  was  to  make  reality  ideal; 
there  is  considerable  significance  in  that  notion  of  mine,  and  I  have 
not  yet  seen  the  limits  of  it,  nor  shall  till  I  have  tried  to  go  as  far  as 
it  will  carry  me.  The  story  of  the  Diamond  Necklace  is  all  told  in 
that  paper  with  the  strictest  fidelity,  yet  in  a  kind  of  musical  way. 
It  seems  to  me  there  is  no  epic  possible  that  does  not  first  of  all 
ground  itself  on  belief.  What  a  man  does  not  believe  can  never  at 
bottom  be  of  true  interest  to  him.  For  the  rest,  I  remain  in  the 
completes!  isolation  from  all  manner  of  editors.  '  Teufelsdrockh '  is 
coming  regularly  out  in  Fraser's,  with  what  effect  or  non-effect  I 
know  not,  consider  not ;  and  this  is  all  I  have  to  do  with  the  world 
of  letters  and  types.  Before  very  long  I  shall  most  probably  begin 
something  else :  at  all  events,  go  over  again  to  the  Barjarg  library, 
and  so  use  my  time  and  not  waste  it.  I  have  a  considerable  quan- 
tity and  quality  of  things  to  impart  to  my  brothers  in  this  earth,  if 
God  see  meet  to  keep  me  in  it,  and  no  editor,  nor  body  of  editors, 
nor,  indeed,  the  whole  world  and  the  Devil  to  back  it  out,  can  wholly 
prevent  me  from  imparting  them.  Forward,  then — getrosten  Muthes. 

"My  thirty-eighth  birthday  happened  on  the  4th  last.  I  am  fast 
verging  towards  forty,  either  as  fool  or  physician.  The  flight  of 
lime  is  a  world-old  topic.  I  was  much  struck  and  consoled  to  see 
it  handled  quite  in  my  own  spirit  in  the  Book  of  Job,  as  I  read  there 
lately.  Oh,  Jack!  Jack!  what  unutterable  things  one  would  have 
to  utter,  had  one  organs!  We  have  had  some  five  or  six  letters  from 
the  Advocate:  mostly  unanswered  yet.  He  asks  me  why  I  am  not 
as  cheerful  a  man  as  you  ?  Babbles  greatly  about  one  thing  and 
the  other.  They  gave  him  a  dinner  at  Edinburgh,  listened  patiently 
to  his  account  of  himself,  pardoned  him  for  the  sake  of  langsyne. 
We  hear  now,  not  from  himself,  that  some  Lord  Cringletie  or  other 
is  about  resigning,  and  that  Jeffrey  is  to  be  made  a  JUDGE.  It  will 
be  a  happy  change.  Macaulay  goes  to  India  with  10,000?.  a  year. 
Jeffrey  calls  him  the  greatest  (if  I  remember  rightly)  man  in  Eng- 
land, not  excepting  the  Chancellor.  How  are  we  to  get  on  without 
him  at  all?  Depend  upon  it, we  shall  get  on  better — or  worse. 

"And  now,  my  dear  brother,  leaving  these  extraneous  things  and 
persons,  let  me  commend  us  all  again  to  you,  the  absent,  and  there- 
fore best  loved.  We  shall  not  see  you  at  our  New  Year's  day,  but  I 
here  promise  to  think  of  you  quite  specially,  and  even  drink  your 
health  (from  my  heart),  though  it  were  only  in  water,  that  day.  Let 
us,  as  I  said,  be  patient  and  peaceable.  There  are  other  new  j^ears 
coming,  when  we  shall  not  be  so  far  apart.  Meanwhile,  be  strong. 
Remember  always  what  you  said  of  the  rush-bush  here  at  Puttock 
on  the  wayside :  '  It  stands  there  because  the  whole  world  could  not 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  227 

prevent  it  standing;'  one  of  the  best  thoughts  I  ever  heard  you  utter 
— a  really  true  and  pregnant  thought.  So,  too,  with  ourselves.  Let 
us  resist  the  devil,  the  world,  and  the  flesh.  Alas!  it  is  ill  to  do;  yet 
one  should  forever  endeavor.  Cheer  up  your  low  heart  in  the  midst 
of  those  Roman  ruins.  There  is  a  time  still  young  and  fruitful, 
which  belongs  to  us.  Get  impatient  with  nobody.  How  easy  it  is 
to  bid  you  do  this  ;  yet  really  it  is  right  and  true:  the  thing  we 
have  to  do  were  to  abolish  and  abandon  the  worthless.  If  we  can- 
not do  this  all  at  once,  let  us,  at  least,  not  make  it  worse  by  adding 
our  own  badness  to  it. 

"  God  be  with  you,  my  dear  John.  BROTHER  TOM." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  writes  a  postscript  between  the  lines — 

"  My  dear  Brother, — I  am  told  there  is  great  space  left  for  me  to 
add  anything.  Say,  judge  with  your  own  eyes,  where.  If  I  had 
known  a  letter  was  to  go  this  week,  I  should  have  been  first  in  field. 
My  good  intentions,  always  unfortunate,  were  frustrated  last  time; 
but  Carlyle  always  chooses  a  day  for  writing  when  I  am  particu- 
larly engaged  with  household  good  and  individual  evil.  God  bless 
you,  however!  Some  day  I  shall  certainly  repay  your  long,  kind 
letter  as  it  deserves.  I  continue  to  take  your  pills.  The  prescrip- 
tion is  in  four  pieces.  I  am  better  than  last  whiter,  but  '  association 
of  ideas '  is  still  hard  on  me." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A.D.  1834.    MT.  39. 

THE  economical  situation  of  the  Carlyles  at  Craigenputtock  grew 
daily  more  pressing.  The  editors  gave  no  sign  of  desiring  any  fur- 
ther-articles. "  Teuf elsdrockh "  was  still  coming  out  in  Fraser; 
but  the  public  verdict  upon  it  was  almost  universally  unfavorable. 
The  "Diamond  Necklace,"  which  in  my  opinion  is  the  very  finest 
illustration  of  Carlyle's  literary  power,  had  been  refused  in  its  first 
form  by  the  editor  of  the  Foreign  Quarterly.  Fevered  as  he  was 
with  the  burning  thoughts  which  were  consuming  his  very  soul, 
which  he  felt  instinctively,  if  once  expressed,  would  make  their 
mark  on  the  mind  of  his  country,  Carlyle  yet  knew  that  his  first 
duty  was  to  provide  honest  maintenance  for  himself  and  his  wife — 
somewhere  and  by  some  means;  if  not  in  England  or  Scotland,  then 
in  America.  His  aims  in  this  direction  were  of  the  very  humblest, 
not  going  beyond  St.  Paul's.  With  "food  and  raiment"  both  he 
and  his  wife  could  be  well  content.  But  even  for  these,  the  supplies 
to  be  derived  from  literature  threatened  to  fail,  and  what  to  do  next 
he  knew  not.  In  this  situation  he  learned  from  a  paragraph  in  a 
newspaper  that  a  new  Astronomy  Professorship  was  about  to  be 
established  in  Edinburgh.  Some  Rhetoric  chair  .was  also  likely  to 
be  immediately  vacant.  One  or  other  of  these,  especially  the  first, 


228  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

he  thought  that  Jeffrey  could,  if  he  wished,  procure  for  him.  Hith- 
erto all  attempts  to  enter  on  the  established  roads  of  life  had  failed. 
He  had  little  hopes  that  another  would  succeed;  but  he  thought  it 
to  be  his  duty  to  make  the  attempt.  He  was  justly  conscious  of  his 
qualifications.  The  mathematical  ability  which  he  had  shown  in 
earlier  times  had  been  so  remarkable  as  to  have  drawn  the  attention 
of  Legendre.  Though  by  the  high  standard  by  which  he  habitually 
tried  himself  Carlyle  could  speak,  and  did  speak,  of  his  own  capa- 
bilities with  mere  contempt,  yet  he  was  above  the  affectation  of 
pretending  to  believe  that  any  really  fitter  candidate  was  likely  to 
offer  himself.  "  I  will  this  day  write  to  Jeffrey  about  it,"  he  says 
in  his  Diary  on  the  llth  of  January.  "Any  hope?  Little.  My 
care  for  it  also  not  much.  Let  us  do  what  we  can.  The  issue  not 
with  us."  He  cared  perhaps  more  than  he  had  acknowledged  to 
himself.  He  allowed  his  imagination  to  rest  on  a  possible  future, 
where,  delivered  from  the  fiery  unrest  which  was  distracting  him, 
he  might  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the  calm  and  calm- 
ing study  of  the  stars  and  their  movements.  It  was  a  last  effort  to 
lay  down  the  burden  which  had  been  laid  upon  him,  yet  not  a  cow- 
ardly effort — rather  a  wise  and  laudable  one — undertaken  as  it  was 
in  submission  to  the  Higher  Will. 

It  failed — failed  with  an  emphasis  of  which  the  effects  can  be 
traced  in  Carlyle's  Reminiscences  of  his  connection  with  Jeffrey. 
He  condemns  especially  the  tone  of  Jeffrey,  which  he  thought  both 
ungenerous  and  insincere.  Insincere  it  certainly  was,  if  Jeffrey  had 
any  real  influence,  for  he  said  that  he  had  none,  and  if  he  had  al- 
ready secured  the  appointment  for  his  own  secretary,  for  he  said 
that  he  had  not  recommended  his  secretary.  It  may  have  been  un- 
generous if,  as  Carlyle  suspected,  Jeffrey  had  resented  some  remarks 
in  the  article  on  Diderot  as  directed  against  himself,  for  he  endeav- 
ored to  lay  the  blame  of  unfitness  for  promotion  upon  Carlyle  him- 
self; but  there  is  no  proof  at  all  that  Carlyle's  surmise  was  correct. 

"  Within  the  last  few  days  [Carlyle  wrote  to  his  brother]  I  have 
made  a  proposal  for  a  public  office,  and  been  rejected!  There  is  to 
be  an  Astronomical  Professor  and  Observer  in  Edinburgh,  and  no 
man  of  the  smallest  likelihood  to  fill  it.  I  thought  what  an  honest 
kind  of  work  it  was;  how  honestly  I  would  work  at  it  for  my  bread, 
and  harmonize  it  with  what  tended  infinitely  higher  than  bread, 
and  so  wrote  to  the  poor  Advocate  with  great  heartiness,  telling  him 
all  this.  He  answered  me  by  return  of  post  in  a  kind  of  polite  fish- 
woman  shriek ;  adds  that  my  doctrines  (in  literature)  are  '  arrogant, 
anti-national,  absurd;'  and  to  crown  the  whole,  '  in  conclusion,'  that 
the  place  withal  is  for  an  old  secretary  of  his  (who  has  not  applied 
to  him),  unless  I  can  convince  the  electors  that  I  am  fitter;  which  I 
have  not  the  faintest  disposition  to  do.  I  have  written  back  to  the 
poor  body,  suppressing  all  indignation,  if  there  were  any;  diffusing 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  229 

over  all  the  balm  of  pity,  and  so  in  a  handsome  manner  terminate 
the  business.  One  has  ever  and  anon  a  kind  of  desire  to  'wash 
away'  this  correspondent  of  ours;  yet  really  it  were  not  right.  I 
can  see  him  even  in  this  letter  to  be  very  thoroughly  miserable,  and 
am  bound  to  help  him,  not  aggravate  him.  His  censures,  too,  have 
something  flattering  even  in  their  violence — otherwise  impertinent 
enough;  he  cannot  tolerate  me,  but  also  he  cannot  despise  me;  and 
that  is  the  sole  misery.  On  the  whole,  dear  Jack,  I  feel  it  very 
wholesome  to  have  my  vanity  humbled  from  time  to  time.  Would 
it  were  rooted  out  forever  and  a  day!  My  mother  said  when  I 
showed  her  the  purport  of  the  letter,  '  He  canna  hinder  thee  of  God's 
providence, '  which  also  was  a  glorious  truth." 

In  this  severe  judgment  there  was  possibly  some  justice.  The 
doubt  which  Jeffrey  pretended  to  feel,  whether  Carlyle  was  equal 
to  the  duties  of  handling  delicate  instruments  without  injuring  them, 
cannot  have  been  quite  sincere.  The  supposition  that  a  man  of  su- 
preme intellectual  qualification  could  fail  in  mastering  a  mere  me- 
chanical operation  couid  only  have  originated  in  irritation.  Carlyle 
already  possessed  a  scientific  knowledge  of  his  subject.  A  few  days' 
instruction  might  easily  have  taught  him  the  mere  manual  exercise. 
It  is  possible,  too,  that  if  Jeffrey  had  gone  out  of  his  way  to  repre- 
sent to  Airy  and  Herschel,  with  whom  the  choice  rested,  what  Car- 
lyle's  qualities  really  were,  he  might  have  saved  to  a  Scotch  univer- 
sity Scotland's  greatest  son,  who  would  have  made  the  School  of 
Astronomy  at  Edinburgh  famous  throughout  Europe,  and  have 
saved  Scotland  the  scandal  of  neglect  of  him  till  his  fame  made  neg- 
lect impossible. 

In  fairness  to  Jeffrey,  however,  whose  own  name  will  be  remem- 
bered in  connection  with  Carlyle  as  his  first  literary  friend,  we  must 
put  the  Lord-advocate's  case  in  his  own  way.  If  he  was  mistaken, 
he  was  mistaken  about  Carlyle's  character  with  all  the  world.  Every 
one  in  Jeffrey's  high  Whig  circle,  the  Broughams  and  Macaulays 
and  such  like,  thought  of  Carlyle  as  he  did.  High  original  genius 
is  always  ridiculed  on  its  first  appearance ;  most  of  all  by  those  who 
have  won  themselves  the  highest  reputation  in  working  on  the  estab- 
lished lines.  Genius  only  commands  recognition  when  it  has  cre- 
ated the  taste  which  is  to  appreciate  it.  Carlyle  acknowledged  "  that 
no  more  unpromotable  man  than  he  was  perhaps  at  present  extant." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  had  answered  Jeffrey's  frosty  communication  in  the 
preceding  November  with  a  playfulness  which,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned,  had  disarmed  his  anger  with  her,  and  he  had  fallen  near- 
ly back  into  his  old  tone. 

Unpermitted  though  I  am  to  publish  Jeffrey's  letters,  I  must,  in 
allowing  him  to  vindicate  himself,  adhere,  as  nearly  as  I  can  with- 
out trespassing,  to  his  own  language. 

In  the  first  week  in  December  he  had  written  affectionately  to 


230  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  and  kindly  to  Carlyle  himself,  pressing  them  to  pay 
him  a  visit  at  Craigcrook.  He  professed,  and  assuredly  felt  (for  his 
active  kindness  in  the  past  years  places  his  sincerity  above  suspicion), 
a  continued  interest  in  Carlyle,  some  provocation,  some  admiration, 
and  a  genuine  desire  for  his  happiness.  Carlyle  thought  that  he  did 
not  please  Jeffrey  because  he  was  so  "  dreadfully  in  earnest."  The 
expression  had  in  fact  been  used  by  Jeffrey;  but  what  retlly  offend- 
ed and  estranged  him  was  Carlyle's  extraordinary  arrogance — a  fault 
of  which  no  one  who  knew  Carlyle,  or  who  has  ever  read  his  letters, 
can  possibly  acquit  him.  He  was  superior  to  the  people  that  he  came 
in  contact  with.  He  knew  that  he  was,  and  being  incapable  of  dis- 
guise or  affectation,  he  let  it  be  seen  hi  every  sentence  that  he  spoke 
or  wrote.  It  was  arrogance,  but  not  the  arrogance  of  a  fool,  swollen 
with  conceit  and  vapor,  but  the  arrogance  of  Aristotle's  "man  of 
lofty  soul,"  "who  being  of  great  merit"  knows  that  he  is  so,  and 
chooses  to  be  so  regarded.  It  was  not  that  Carlyle  ever  said  to  him- 
self that  he  was  wiser  than  others.  When  it  came  to  introspection, 
never  had  any  one  a  lower  opinion  of  himself;  but  let  him  be  crossed 
in  argument,  let  some  rash  person,  whoever  he  might  be,  dare  to 
contradict  him,  and  Johnson  himself  was  not  more  rude,  disdainful, 
and  imperious;  and  this  quality  in  him  had  very  naturally  dis- 
pleased Jeffrey,  and  had  served  to  blind  him,  at  least  in  some  de- 
gree, to  the  actual  greatness  of  Carlyle's  powers.  In  this  letter  Jeffrey 
frankly  admitted  that  he  disliked  the  wrangling  to  which  Carlyle 
treated  him.  Never  having  had  much  of  a  creed  himself,  he  thought 
he  had  daily  less ;  and  having  no  tendency  to  dogmatism  and  no  im- 
patience of  indecision,  he  thought  zeal  for  creeds  and  anxiety  about 
positive  opinions  more  and  more  ludicrous.  In  fact,  he  regarded 
discussions  which  aimed  at  more  than  exercising  the  faculties  and 
exposing  intolerance  very  tiresome  and  foolish. 

But,  for  all  that,  he  invited  Carlyle  with  genuine  heartiness  to  come 
down  from  his  mountains  and  join  the  Christmas  party  at  Craig- 
crook.  Carlyle  professed  to  be  a  lover  of  his  fellow-creatures.  Jef- 
frey said  he  had  no  patience  with  a  philanthropy  that  drew  people 
into  the  desert  and  made  them  fly  from  the  face  of  man. 

The  good-humored  tone  of  his  letter,  and  the  pleasant  banter  of  it, 
ending  as  it  did  with  reiterated  professions  of  a  willingness  to  serve 
Carlyle  if  an  opportunity  offered,  made  it  natural  on  Carlyle's  part 
to  apply  to  him  when  an  opportunity  did  present  itself  immediately 
after.  Jeffrey's  letter  had  been  written  on  December  8.  Three 
weeks  later  the  news  of  the  intended  Astronomy  Professorship 
reached  Craigenputtock,  while  Carlyle  was  told  also  that  Jeffrey 
would  probably  have  the  decisive  voice  in  the  appointment.  Car- 
lyle wrote  to  him  at  once  to  ask  for  his  good  word,  and  there  came 
by  return  of  post  the  answer  which  he  calls  the  "fishwoman's 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  231 

shriek,"  and  which  it  is  clear  that  he  never  forgave.  For  some  rea- 
son— for  the  reason,  possibly,  which  Carlyle  surmised,  that  he  ex- 
pected the  situation  to  be  given  to  his  own  secretary — Jeffrey  was 
certainly  put  out  by  being  taken  thus  at  his  word  when  he  had  vol- 
unteered to  be  of  use. 

Impatiently,  and  even  abruptly,  he  told  Carlyle  that  he  had  no 
chance  of  getting  the  Astronomy  Chair,  and  that  it  would  be  idle 
for  him  (Jeffrey)  to  ask  for  it.  The  appointment  was  entirely  out 
of  his  own  sphere,  and  he  would  be  laughed  at  if  he  interfered.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  most  promising  candidate  was  his  secretary,  a 
gentleman  who  had  already  been  nominated  for  the  Observatory  at 
the  Cape,  and  wished  to  go  through  some  preliminary  observing 
work  at  Edinburgh.  But  this  gentleman,  he  said,  had  not  applied 
to  him  for  a  recommendation,  but  trusted  to  his  own  merits.  It  was 
matter  of  notoriety  that  no  testimonial  would  be  looked  at  except 
from  persons  of  weight  and  authority  in  that  particular  branch  of 
science,  and  he  was  perfectly  certain  —  indeed  he  knew — that  the 
government  would  be  entirely  guided  by  their  opinions.  The  place 
would  be  given,  and  it  was  difficult  to  say  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
given,  according  to  the  recommendations  of  Herschel,  Airy,  Bab- 
bage,  and  six  or  seven  other  men  of  unquestionable  eminence  in  the 
astronomical  department,  without  the  least  regard  to  unprofessional 
advisers.  If  Carlyle  could  satisfy  tfiem  that  he  was  the  fittest  per- 
son for  the  place,  he  might  be  sure  of  obtaining  it ;  if  he  could  not, 
he  might  be  equally  sure  that  it  was  needless  to  think  of  it.  Whether 
Carlyle's  scientific  qualifications  were  such  that  he  would  be  able  to 
satisfy  them,  Jeffrey  would  not  pretend  to  judge.  But  he  added  a 
further  reason  for  thinking  that  Carlyle  had  no  chance  of  success. 
He  had  had  no  practice  in  observing,  and  nobody  would  be  appoint- 
ed who  was  not  both  practised  and  of  acknowledged  skill.  Sir 
David  Brewster  and  Lord  Napier  looked  on  this  as  the  most  im- 
portant qualification  of  all,  and  would  abate  much  scientific  attain- 
ment to  secure  tactical  dexterity  and  acquired  habits  of  observa- 
tion. Herschel,  it  was  said,  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  they  were 
unlikely  to  trust  the  handling  of  their  instruments  to  one  who  had 
not  served  an  apprenticeship  in  the  mechanical  parts  of  the  business. 
They  were  already  crying  out  about  the  mischief  which  another 
professor  had  occasioned  by  his  awkwardness,  mischief  which  it 
would  cost  500?.  and  many  months  of  work  to  repair.  The  place  to 
be  given  was,  in  fact,  essentially  an  observer's  place,  there  being 
little  expectation  that  a  class  of  practical  astronomy  would  be 
formed  out  of  the  students  at  Edinburgh.  It  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  therefore,  that  this  qualification  was  regarded  as  indis- 
pensable. 

Had  Jeffrey  stopped  here,  Carlyle  would  have  had  no  right  to 


233  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

complain.  It  is  probable,  but,  after  all,  it  is  not  certain,  that  Car- 
lyle  would  have  made  a  good  observer,  even  if  the  technical  knowl- 
edge could  have  been  acquired  without  damage  to  the  equatorials. 
Carlyle,  no  doubt,  was  a  person  whom  the  electors  should  have  been 
grateful  for  the  opportunity  of  choosing,  if  they  had  known  what 
his  intellectual  powers  were  ;  but  it  is  not  clear  that  they  could 
have  known,  or  that  Jeffrey  could  have  persuaded  them  if  he  had 
tried.  The  "secretary"  was  not  only  qualified  as  an  observer, 
but  he  had  been  already  selected  for  a  most  responsible  place  at 
Cape  Town.  Brewster  could  have  spoken  for  Carlyle's  knowledge 
of  mathematics;  but  mathematics  alone  were  insufficient;  and,  in 
fact,  it  is  difficult  to  see  by  what  reasons  any  conceivable  board 
or  body  of  men  would  have  at  that  time  been  justified  in  preferring 
Carlyle. 

But  Jeffrey  went  beyond  what  was  necessary,  in  using  the  occa- 
sion to  give  Carlyle  a  lecture.  He  was  very  sorry,  he  said ;  but  the 
disappointment  revived  and  increased  the  regret  which  he  had  al- 
ways felt,  that  Carlyle  was  without  the  occupation,  and  consequent 
independence,  of  some  regular  profession.  The  profession  of  teacJier 
was,  no  doubt,  a  useful  and  noble  one ;  but  it  could  not  be  exercised 
unless  a  man  had  something  to  teach  which  was  thought  worth 
learning,  and  in  a  way  that  was  thought  agreeable ;  and  neither  of 
those  conditions  was  fulfilled  by  Carlyle.  Jeffrey  frankly  said  that 
he  could  not  set  much  value  on  paradoxes  and  exaggerations,  and 
no  man  ever  did  more  than  Carlyle  to  obstruct  the  success  of  his 
doctrines  by  the  tone  in  which  he  set  them  forth.  It  was  arrogant, 
obscure  vituperation,  and  carried  no  conviction.  It  might  impress 
weak,  fanciful  minds,  but  it  would  only  revolt  calm,  candid,  and 
thoughtful  persons.  It  might  seem  harsh  to  speak  as  he  was  doing; 
but  he  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  Carlyle  was  being  taught  by  ex- 
perience to  know  that  it  was  the  truth.  Never,  never  would  he  find 
or  make  the  world  friendly  to  him  if  he  persisted  in  addressing  it  in 
so  extravagant  a  tone.  One  thing  he  was  glad  to  find,  that  Carlyle 
was  growing  tired  of  solitude.  He  would  be  on  his  way  to  amend- 
ment if  he  would  live  gently,  humbly,  and,  if  possible,  gayly,  with 
other  men ;  let  him  once  fairly  come  down  from  the  barren  and  misty 
eminence  where  he  had  his  bodily  abode,  and  he  would  soon  be  rec- 
onciled to  a  no  less  salutary  intellectual  subsidence. 

Disagreeable  as  language  of  this  kind  might  be  to  Carlyle,  it  was, 
after  all,  not  unnatural  from  Jeffrey's  point  of  view ;  and  there  was 
still  nothing  in  it  which  he  was  entitled  to  resent :  certainly  nothing 
of  the  "  fishwoman."  It  was  the  language  of  a  sensible  man  of  the 
world  who  had  long  earnestly  endeavored  to  befriend  Carlyle,  and 
had  been  thwarted  by  peculiarities  in  Carlyle's  conduct  and  charac- 
ter which  had  neutralized  all  his  efforts.  There  was,  in  fact,  very 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  233 

little  in  what  Jeffrey  said  which  Carlyle,  in  his  note-book,  was  not 
often  saying  to  and  of  himself.  We  must  look  further  to  explain 
the  deep,  ineffaceable  resentment  which  Carlyle  evidently  nourished 
against  Jeffrey  for  his  behavior  on  this  occasion.  The  Astronomical 
chair  was  not  the  only  situation  vacant  to  which  Carlyle  believed 
that  he  might  aspire.  There  was  a  Rhetoric  chair — whether  at  Ed- 
inburgh or  in  London  University,  I  am  not  certain.  To  this  it  ap- 
pears that  there  had  been  some  allusion,  for  Jeffrey  went  on  to  say 
that  if  he  was  himself  the  patron  of  that  chair  he  would  appoint  Car- 
lyle, though  not  without  misgivings.  But  the  University  Commis- 
sioners had  decided  that  the  Rhetoric  chair  was  not  to  be  refilled 
unless  some  man  of  great  and  established  reputation  was  willing  to 
accept  it,  and  such  a  man  Jeffrey  said  he  could  not  in  his  conscience 
declare  Carlyle  to  be.  Had  it  been  Macaulay  that  was  the  candi- 
date, then,  indeed,  the  commissioners  would  see  their  way.  Macau- 
lay  was  the  greatest  of  living  Englishmen,  not  excepting  the  great 
Brougham  himself.  But  Carlyle  was — Carlyle.  It  was  melancholy 
and  provoking  to  feel  that  perversions  and  absurdities  (for  as  such 
alone  he  could  regard  Carlyle's  peculiar  methods  and  doctrines)  were 
heaping  up  obstacles  against  his  obtaining  either  the  public  position 
or  the  general  respect  to  which  his  talents  and  his  diligence  would 
have  otherwise  entitled  him.  As  long  as  society  remained  as  it  was 
and  thought  as  it  did,  there  was  not  the  least  chance  of  his  ever  being 
admitted  as  a  teacher  into  any  regular  seminary. 

There  was  no  occasion  for  Jeffrey  to  have  written  with  such  ex- 
treme harshness.  If  he  felt  obliged  to  expostulate,  he  might  have 
dressed  his  censures  in  a  kinder  form.  To  Carlyle  such  language 
was  doubly  wounding,  for  he  was  under  obligations  to  Jeffrey, 
which  his  pride  already  endured  with  difficulty,  and  the  tone  of  con- 
descending superiority  was  infinitely  galling.  He  was  conscious, 
too,  that  Jeffrey  did  not  understand  him.  His  extravagances,  as  Jef- 
frey considered  them,  were  but  efforts  to  express  thoughts  of  im- 
measurable consequence.  From  his  boyhood  upwards  he  had  strug- 
gled to  use  his  faculties  honestly  for  the  best  purposes;  to  consider 
only  what  was  true  and  good,  and  never  to  be  led  astray  by  any 
worldly  interest;  and  for  reward  every  door  of  preferment  was 
closed  in  his  face,  and  poverty  and  absolute  want  seemed  advancing 
to  overwhelm  him.  If  he  was  tried  in  the  fire,  if  he  bore  the  worst 
that  the  world  could  do  to  him  and  came  out  at  last  triumphant,  let 
those  who  think  that  they  would  have  behaved  better  blame  Carlyle 
for  his  occasional  bursts  of  impatience  and  resentment.  High-toned 
moral  lectures  were  the  harder  to  bear  because  Goethe,  far  off  in 
Germany,  could  recognize  in  the  same  qualities  at  which  Jeffrey  was 
railing  the  workings  of  true  original  genius. 

Even  so,  it  is  strange  that  Carlyle,  after  the  victory  had  long  been 


234  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

won,  when  his  trials  were  all  over  and  he  was  standing  on  the  high- 
est point  of  literary  fame,  known,  honored,  and  admired  over  two 
continents,  should  have  nourished  still  an  evident  grudge  against 
the  poor  Lord-advocate,  especially  as,  after  the  appearance  of  the 
"French  Revolution,"  Jeffrey  had  freely  and  without  reserve  ac- 
knowledged that  he  had  all  along  been  wrong  in  his  judgment  of 
Carlyle.  One  expression  casually  let  fall  at  the  end  of  one  of  Jef- 
frey's letters,  to  which  I  need  not  do  more  than  allude,  contains  a 
possible  explanation.  Jeffrey  was  always  gentlemanlike,  and  it  is 
not  conceivable  that  he  intended  to  affront  Carlyle,  but  Carlyle  may 
have  taken  the  words  to  himself  in  a  sense  which  they  were  not 
meant  to  bear;  and  a  misunderstanding,  to  which  self-respect  would 
have  forbidden  him  to  refer,  may  have  infected  his  recollections  of 
a  friend  whom  he  had  once  cordially  esteemed,  and  to  whom  both 
he  and  his  brothers  were  under  obligations  which  could  hardly  be 
overrated.  But  this  is  mere  conjecture.  It  may  be  simply  that  Jef- 
frey had  once  led  Carlyle  to  hope  for  his  assistance  in  obtaining  pro- 
motion in  the  world,  and  that,  when  an  opportunity  seemed  to  offer 
itself,  the  assistance  was  not  given. 

Never  any  more  did  Carlyle  seek  admission  into  the  beaten  tracks 
of  established  industry.  He  was  impatient  of  harness,  and  had  felt 
all  along  that  no  official  situation  was  fit  for  him,  or  he  fit  for  it. 
He  would  have  endeavored  loyally  to  do  his  duty  in  any  position  in 
which  he  might  be  placed.  Never  would  he  have  accepted  employ- 
ment merely  for  its  salary,  going  through  the  perfunctory  forms, 
and  reserving  his  best  powers  for  other  occupations.  Anything 
which  he  undertook  to  do  he  would  have  done  with  all  his  might; 
but  he  would  have  carried  into  it  the  stern  integrity  which  refused 
to  bend  to  conventional  exigencies.  His  tenure  of  office,  whether  of 
professor's  chair  or  of  office  under  government,  would  probably  have 
been  brief,  and  would  have  come  to  a  violent  end.  He  never  offered 
himself  again,  and  in  later  times,  when  a  professorship  might  have 
been  found  for  him  at  Edinburgh,  he  refused  to  be  nominated.  He 
called  himself  a  Bedouin,  and  a  Bedouin  he  was;  a  free  lance  owing 
no  allegiance  save  to  his  Maker  and  his  own  conscience. 

On  receiving  Jeffrey's  letter,  he  adjusted  himself  resolutely  and 
without  complaining  to  the  facts  as  they  stood.  He  determined  to 
make  one  more  attempt,  either  at  Craigenputtock  or  elsewhere,  to 
conquer  a  place  for  himself,  and  earn  an  honest  livelihood  as  an 
English  man  of  letters.  If  that  failed,  he  had  privately  made  up  his 
mind  to  try  his  fortune  in  America,  where  he  had  learned  from  Em- 
erson, and  where  he  himself  instinctively  felt,  that  he  might  expect 
more  favorable  hearing.  He  was  in  no  hurry.  In  all  that  he  did 
he  acted  with  a  deliberate  circumspection  scarcely  to  have  been 
looked  for  in  so  irritable  a  man.  The  words  "judicious  despera- 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  235 

tion,"  by  which  he  describes  the  principle  on  which  he  guided  hia 
earlier  life,  are  exactly  appropriate. 

Including  Fraser's  payments  for  "  Teuf elsdr5ckh, "  he  was  pos- 
sessed of  about  two  hundred  pounds,  and  until  his  brother  John 
could  repay  him  the  sums  which  had  been  advanced  for  his  educa- 
tion, he  had  no  definite  prospect  of  earning  any  more — a  very  seri- 
ous outlook,  but  he  did  not  allow  it  to  discompose  him.  At  any 
rate,  he  had  no  debts;  never  had  a  debt  in  his  life  except  the  fifty 
pounds  which  he  had  borrowed  from  Jeffrey,  and  this,  with  the  Ad- 
vocate's loan  to  his  brother,  was  now  cleared  off.  The  "  Diamond 
Necklace  "  had  proved  unsalable,  but  he  worked  quietly  on  upon 
it,  making  additions  and  alterations  as  new  books  came  in.  He  was 
not  solitary  this  winter.  In  some  respects  he  was  worse  off  than  if 
he  had  been  solitary.  With  characteristic  kindness  he  had  taken 
charge  of  the  young  Scotchman  whom  he  had  met  in  London,  Wil- 
liam Glen,  gifted,  accomplished,  with  the  fragments  in  him  of  a  true 
man  of  genius,  but  with  symptoms  showing  themselves  of  approach- 
ing insanity,  in  which  after  a  year  or  two  he  sank  into  total  eclipse. 
With  Glen,  half  for  his  friend's  sake,  he  read  Homer  and  mathemat- 
ics. Glen,  who  was  a  good  scholar,  taught  Carlyle  Greek.  Carlyle 
taught  Glen  Newtonian  geometry ;  in  the  intervals  studying  hard  at 
French  Revolution  history.  His  inward  experience  lies  written  in 
his  Diary. 

"Saturday,  January  11,  1834. — So  long  since  my  pen  was  put  to 
paper  here.  The  bustle,  the  confusion,  has  been  excessive.  Above 
three  weeks  ago  by  writing  violently  I  finished  the  'Diamond 
Necklace,'  a  singular  sort  of  thing  which  is  very  far  from  pleasing 
me.  Scarcely  was  the  '  Necklace '  laid  by,  when  the  Glens  arrived, 
and  with  them  the  entirest  earthquake.  Nothing  could  be  done, 
nothing  so  much  as  thought  of.  Archy l  often  only  went  off  on 
Sunday;  William  not  near  so  ill  as  we  anticipated.  I  have  him  at 
geometry,  which  he  actually  learns;  mean  to  begin  reading  Homer 
with  him.  Will  he  ever  recover?  We  have  hope  and  ought  to  en- 
deavor. " 

"  Wednesday  gone  a  week  I  went  down  to  Dumfries  and  brought 
up  my  mother,  who  is  still  here  reading  and  sewing.  She  is  won- 
derfully peaceful,  not  unhappy;  intrinsically  an  admirable  woman 
whom  I  ought  to  be  right  thankful  that  I  have  for  mother." 

"Letter  from  Mill  about  a  new  Radical  Review  in  which  my  co- 
operation is  requested.  Shall  be  ready  to  give  it  if  they  have  any 
payment  to  offer.  Dog's-meat  Bazaar  which  you  enter  muffled  up, 
holding  your  nose,  with  '  Here,  you  master,  able  editor,  or  whatever 
your  name  is,  take  this  mess  of  mine  and  sell  it  for  me — at  the  old 
rate,  you  know.'  This  is  the  relation  I  am  forced  to  stand  in  with 
publishers  as  the  time  now  runs.  May  God  mend  it." 

i  Brother  of  William  Glen. 


236  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Magazine  Fraser  writes  that  '  Teufelsdrockh '  excites  the  most 
unqualified  disapprobation — a  la  bonne  heure." 

'  'February  9. — Nothing  done  yet — nothing  feasible  devised.  Innu- 
merable confused  half -thoughts ;  a  kind  of  moulting  season  with  me ; 
very  disconsolate,  yet  tending,  as  I  believe,  or  would  fain  believe,  to 
profit.  Almost  all  things  go  by  systole  and  diastole,  even  one's 
spiritual  progress.  Neglect,  humiliation,  all  these  things  are  good, 
if  I  will  use  them  wisely.  From  the  uttermost  deeps  of  darkness  a 
kind  of  unsubduable  hope  rises  in  me;  grows  stronger  and  stronger." 

"  Began  Homer  two  weeks  ago :  nearly  through  the  first  book  now 
— like  it  very  considerably.  Simplicity,  sincerity,  the  singleness  (not 
quite  the  word)  and  massive  repose  as  of  an  ancient  picture.  In- 
deed, all  the  engravings  of  Pompeii  antiques,  and  such  like,  that  I 
have  seen  grow  singularly  present  with  me  as  I  read.  A  most  quiet- 
ing, wholesome  task  too;  will  persist  in  it.  Poor  Glen  is  my  very 
sufficient  help  here.  Have  sent  for  Heyne,  Blackwell,  and  other 
books,  as  further  helps.  Dacier  here,  but  nearly  unproductive  for 
me." 

"Read  'Seattle's  Life, 'by  Sir  Wm.  Forbes  (from  Barjarg,  where 
I  was  some  days  ago).  Schneidermdssiff,  religious  'Gigmanity,'  yet 
lovable,  pitiable,  in  many  respects  worthy.  Of  all  literary  men, 
Beattie,  according  to  his  deserts,  was  perhaps  (in  those  times)  the 
best  rewarded;  yet,  alas!  also,  at  length,  among  the  unhappiest. 
How  much  he  enjoyed  that  is  far  from  theef — converse  with  minds 
congenial ;  an  element  not  of  Naek-eattleism,  but  of  refinement,  plen- 
ty, and  encouragement.  Repine  not;  or,  what  is  more  to  be  dread- 
ed, rebel  not." 

"  February  13. — Reading  in  those  larger  quartos  about  the  Collier. 
Nearly  done  with  it  now.  View  of  the  rascaldom  of  Paris,  tragical 
at  this  distance  of  time  (for  where  is  now  that  reiving  and  stealing, 
that  squeaking  and  jabbering — of  lies?):  otherwise  unprofitable. 
What  to  do  with  that  'Diamond  Necklace'  affair  I  wrote?  must 
correct  it  in  some  parts  which  these  new  books  have  illuminated  a 
little." 

"Letter  from  Jeffrey  indicating  that  Tie  can  or  will  do  nothing  in 
the  'Rhetoric  Professor'  business  had  I  resolved  on  trying  him. 
Better  to  be  done  with  all  that  business,  and  know  that  I  have 
nothing  to  hope  for  in  that  quarter,  or  any  such,  and  adjust  myself 
thereto.  Rebel  not;  be  still;  still  and  strong!" 

"Finished  the  first  book  of  Homer  last  night.  Pleasantest,  most 
purely  poetical  reading  I  have  had  for  long.  Simplicity  (not  mul- 
tiplicity), almost  vacuity,  yet  sincerity,  and  the  richest-toned  artless 
music.  The  question  at  present  with  me,  What  does  he  mean  by 
his  gods?  In  the  question  of  belief  some  light  to  be  sought  from 
Homer  still ;  he  is  still  far  from  clear  to  me. 

"Bulwer's  'England  and  the  English:' 

Weightiest  of  harrows,  what  horse  will  ply  it? 
Cheeriest  of  sparrows  meanwhile  will  try  it. 

Intrinsically  a  poor  creature  this  Bulwer;  has  a  bustling,  whisking 
agility  and  restlessness  which  may  support  him  in  a  certain  degree 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  237 

of  significance  with  some,  but  which  partakes  much  of  the  nature 
of  levity.     Nothing  truly  notable  can  come  of  him  or  of  it." 

"Sunday,  February  16. — Beautiful  days ;  this  is  the  third  of  them. 
Unspeakably  grateful  after  the  long  loud-howling  deluge  of  a  win- 
ter. Blackbirds  singing  this  morning — had  I  not  been  so  sick!" 

"Friday,  February  21. — Still  reading,  but  with  indifferent  effect. 
Homer  still  grateful — grows  easier;  one  hundred  lines  have  been  done 
more  than  once  in  an  evening.  Was  Thersites  intended  to  have 
any  wit,  humor,  or  even  fun  in  his  raillery?  Nothing  (with  my 
actual  knowledge  of  Greek)  comes  to  light  but  mere  beggarly  abuse 
and  miry  blackguardism.  When  Ulysses  weals  his  back  with  that 
bang  of  his  sceptre,  how  he  sinks  annihilated  like  a  cracked  bug! 
Mark  too  the  sugar-loaf  head,  bald  but  for  down;  the  squint,  the 
shoulders  drawn  together  over  his  back :  a  perfect  beauty  in  his  kind. 
How  free  otherwise  is  Ulysses  with  his  sceptre !  '  Whatever  man 
of  the  A»}/ioc  he  met,'  he  clanked  him  over  the  crown.  It  does  not 
seem  to  me  so  incredible  as  it  did,  that  opinion  of  Voss's.  The 
'  characters '  in  Homer,  might  they  not  be  like  the  pantaloon,  harle- 
quin, etc. ,  of  the  Italian  comedy,  and  sustained  (what  is  there  meant 
by  sustaining?)  by  various  hands?  One  thing  is  clear,  and  little 
more  to  me  at  present.  The  whole  is  very  old.  'Achilles  sitting 
weeping  by  the  hoary  beach  looking  out  into  the  dark-colored  sea;' 
still,  einfach,  with  a  kind  of  greatness." 

"  Mem  Leben  gehtsehr  ubel :  all  dim,  misty,  squally,  disheartening, 
at  times  almost  heart-breaking.  Nevertheless,  it  seems  to  me  clear 
that  I  am  in  a  growing  state:  call  this  a  'moulting  season  for  the 
mind;  say  I  shall  come  out  of  it  new-coated,  made  young  again!" 

"Yesterday  we  for  the  first  time  spoke  seriously  of  setting  off  for 
London  to  take  up  our  abode  there  next  Whitsunday.  Nothing 
but  the  wretchedest,  forsaken,  discontented  existence  here,  where 
almost  your  whole  energy  is  spent  in  keeping  yourself  from  flying 
out  into  exasperation.  I  had  never  much  hope  of  foreign  help: 
perhaps  the  only  man  I  put  even  a  shadow  of  dependence  upon  was 
Jeffrey;  and  he  has,  two  or  three  weeks  ago,  convinced  me  that  he 
will  never  do  anything  for  me;  that  he  dares  not;  that  he  cannot; 
ihat  he  does  not  wish  to  do  it.  Why  not  try  for  ourselves,  while 
as  yet  we  have  strength  left,  and  old-age  has  not  finally  lamed  us? 
Andar  con  Dios  !  Unutterable  thoughts  are  in  me,  and  these  words 
are  but  faint  chirpings.  May  God  direct  us  and  go  with  us!  My 
poor  mother !  But,  once  for  all,  one  must  cut  himself  loose  though 
his  heart  bleed;  it  is  better  than  perennial  torpor  which  ends  in 
death." 

"March  25. — Strange  days  these  are  ;  again  quite  original  days  in 
my  life.  Cannot  express  any  portion  of  their  meaning  in  words  ; 
cannot  even  try  it." 

"I  dig  the  garden  flower  -  beds,  though  not  hoping  to  see  them 
spring.  It  is  a  bodeful,  huge  feeling  I  have,  like  one  to  be  delivered 
from  a  Bastile;  and  who  says,  delivered?  or  cast  out  ?" 


238  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Thousaud  voices  speak  to  me  from  the  distance  out  of  the  dim 
depths  of  the  old  years.  I  sit  speechless.  If  I  live,  I  shall  speak." 

"Many  things  are  sad  to  me:  the  saddest  is  to  forsake  my  poor 
mother;  for  it  is  kind  of  forsaking,  though  she,  too,  sees  well  the  ne- 
cessity of  it.  May  He  to  whom  she  ever  looks  not  forsake  her!" 

' '  Be  still,  be  wise,  be  brave !  The  world  is  all  before  thee ;  its  pains 
will  soon  (how  very  soon!)  be  over;  the  icork  to  be  done  in  it  will 
continue — through  eternity.  Oh,  how  fearful,  yet  how  great!" 

So  far  the  Diary.  The  letters,  or  portions  of  them,  fill  the  inter- 
val between  the  notes,  and  wind  up  the  story  of  the  Carlyles'  life  in 

the  Dumfriesshire  highlands. 
•  % 

To  John  Carlyle,  Borne. 

"Craigenputtock:  January  21, 1834 

"  On  Wednesday  gone  a  fortnight  I  drove  down  to  Dumfries  to 
fetch  up  our  mother,  who  had  been  waiting  at  Jean's  there  for  seve- 
ral days.  We  got  home  betimes;  found  Archy  Glen  and  William, 
the  former  of  whom  went  off  on  the  following  day  and  left  us  a  lit- 
tle more  composure.  My  mother  was  wonderfully  cheerful  and 
composed.  She  read  various  things — Campan's  '  Memoirs, '  and  such 
like,  with  great  interest;  sewed  a  little,  smoked,  and  talked,  and,  on 
the  whole,  was  very  tolerably  off.  Her  calmness  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  vicissitudes,  and  now  while  her  immediate  future  is  still  so 
problematical,  was  very  gratifying  to  me ;  showed  the  admirable  spirit 
she  is  of.  It  is  one  of  the  saddest  possibilities  now  that  lies  before 
me,  the  losing  of  such  a  parent.  One  thing  with  another,  and  alto- 
gether apart  from  natural  affection,  I  have  seen  no  woman  in  the 
whole  world  whom  I  would  have  preferred  as  a  mother.  On  the 
following  Sunday  Alick  and  Jamie  both  arrived,  so  that  again  we 
had  a  full  house.  They  stayed  till  Wednesday  morning,  when  I 
accompanied  them  as  far  as  Straquhar;  it  had  been  arranged  that 
Alick  was  to  come  next  Saturday  to  Dumfries  and  meet  our  mother 
there  if  the  day  was  tolerable.  She  and  I  accordingly  set  off;  met 
Alick  there,  who  had  his  cart,  and  I  reyoked  poor  Harry  and  turned 
back  again  to  the  solitude  of  our  moors.  Our  mother  was  wrapped 
to  all  lengths,  and,  having  the  wind  favorable,  I  hope  would  not 
suffer  much  from  cold. 

' '  As  for  our  household,  it  is  much  as  you  can  fancy  it.  Jane  con- 
tinues in  a  tolerable,  in  an  improving  state  of  health,  though  the  last 
five  weeks  of  bustle  have  done  her  no  good.  I,  when  I  take  walk- 
ing enough,  get  along  as  I  was  wont  in  that  particular.  Continued 
sickness  is  a  miserable  thing,  yet  one  learns  to  brave  it.  ... 

"  What  you  say  of  periodicals  is  mournfully  true;  yet  it  is  true 
also  that  a  man  must  provide  food  and  clothes  for  himself  as  long 
as  he  honestly  can.  While  you  write  down  a  truth  you  do  an  honest 
duty,  were  the  Devil  himself  your  editor,  and  all  fellow-contributors 
mere  incubi  and  foul  creatures.  One  loses  repute  by  it,  but  nothing 
more;  and  must  front  that  loss  for  a  gain  which  is  indispensable. 
Indeed,  had  I  [written]  the  best  book  possible  for  me,  I  see  not,  such 
is  the  condition  of  things,  where  I  could  so  much  as  get  it  printed. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  239 

Tour  money,  my  dear  boy,  I  will  not  take  at  this  time  till  you  are 
settled  with  it,  and  making  more.  Come  home,  and  let  us  settle  in 
London  together,  and  front  the  world  together,  and  see  whether  it 
will  beat  us  !  Let  us  try  it.  And  in  the  meanwhile  never  fear  but 
I  hold  on ;  now  as  ever  it  lies  with  myself.  Mill  tells  me  that  he  and 
Buller  and  a  number  of  Radicals  with  money  capital,  and  what  they 
reckon  talents,  have  determined  on  a  new  Radical  Review,  which 
they  want  me  to  write  in.  Unitarian  Fox  is  to  be  editor.  I  calcu- 
late that  it  may  last  three  years  at  any  rate,  for  money  is  found  to 
that  length.  If  they  pay  me  rightly,  they  shall  have  a  paper  or  two; 
if  not,  not.  The  Radicals,  I  say  always,  are  barren  as  Sahara,  but  not 
poisonous.  In  my  prophecy  of  the  world,  they  are  my  enfant*  per- 
dus,  whom  I  honestly  wish  well  to.  James  Fraser  writes  me  that 
'  Teufelsdrockh '  meets  with  the  most  .unqualified  disapproval,  which 
is  all  extremely  proper.  His  payment  arrives,  which  is  still  more 
proper.  On  the  whole,  dear  Jack,  it  is  a  contending  world ;  and  he 
that  is  born  into  it  must  fight  for  his  place  or  lose  it.  If  we  are  un- 
der the  right  flag,  let  the  world  do  its  worst  and  heartily  welcome. 
"  God  bless  thee,  dear  brother  !  Auf  ewig,  T. 'CARLYLE." 

To  Mrs  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"January  28,  1834. 

"  I  wrote  to  poor  Jeffrey,  but  not  till  any  anger  I  felt  had  gone 
off,  and  given  place  to  a  kind  of  pity.  'Poor  fellow  !'  I  thought: 
'  what  a  miserable  fuff  thou  gettest  into,  poor  old  exasperated  poli- 
tician !  I  will  positively  have  pity  on  thee,  and  do  thee  a  little  good 
if  I  can  !'  In  this  spirit  was  my  letter  written;  a  short,  careless  let- 
ter winding  up  the  business  handsomely,  not  ravelling  it  further. 
He  is  off  to  London  to-day,  I  fancy,  to  worry  and  be  worried  in  that 
den  of  discord  and  dishonesty;  actually,  I  doubt,  to  lose  his  last  al- 
lotment of  health,  almost  his  life,  if  he  be  not  soon  delivered.  '  He 
cannot  hinder  thee  of  God's  providence,'  is  also  a  most  precious 
truth :  not  he,  nor  the  whole  world  with  the  Devil  to  back  it  out ! 
This  is  a  fact  one  ought  to  lay  seriously  to  heart  and  see  into  the 
meaning  of.  Did  we  see  it  rightly,  what  were  there  beneath  the 
moon  that  should  throw  us  into  commotion  ?  Except  writing  let- 
ters, I  have  not  put  pen  to  paper  yet.  I  sent  word  to  Mill  that  I 
would  write  two  essays  for  his  new  periodical,  the  second  of  which  is 
perhaps  to  be  on  John  Knox;  but  I  suppose  there  is  no  great  hurry." 

To  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"February  18, 1834. 

"...  Poor  Mrs.  Clow,  it  seems,  has  been  called  away.  She  was 
not  long  left  a  superfluity  in  the  world,  but  has  found  a  home  beside 
her  old  partner,  where  there  will  be  none  to  grudge  her.  O  Time ! 
Time!  how  it  brings  forth  and  devours!  And  the  roaring  flood  of 
existence  rushes  on  forever  similar,  forever  changing!  Already  of 
those  that  we  looked  up  to  as  grown  men,  as  towers  of  defence  and 
authority  in  our  boyhood,  the  most  are  clean  gone.  We  ourselves 
have  stept  into  their  position,  where  also  we  cannot  linger.  Un- 
happy they  that  have  no  footing  in  eternity;  for  here  in  time  all  is 
but  cloud  and  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision  1 


240  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"But  to  turn  back  to  the  earth;  for  in  the  earth  too  lies  the  pledge 
of  a  higher  world — namely,  a  duty  allotted  us.  Tell  me,  my  dear 
brother,  how  you  fare  on  that  wild  Knowhead,  what  kind  of  cheer 
you  are  of.  The  little  children,  I  imagine,  must  be  your  chief  bless- 
ing; and  surely  you  are  thankful  for  them,  and  will  struggle  with 
your  whole  strength  to  instruct  them  and  protect  them,  and  fit  them 
for  the  long  journey  (long,  for  it  is  as  long  as  eternity)  that  lies  be- 
fore them.  Little  Jane  will  be  beginning  to  have  many  notions  of 
things  now.  Train  her  to  this  as  the  corner-stone  of  all  morality :  to 
stand  by  the  truth;  to  abhor  a  lie  as  she  does  hell-fire.  Actually  the 
longer  I  live  I  see  the  greater  cause  to  look  on  falsehood  with  detes- 
tation, with  terror,  as  the  beginning  of  all  else  that  is  of  the  Devil. 
My  poor  little  namesake  has  no  knowledge  of  good  or  evil  yet ;  but 
I  hope  he  will  grow  to  be  a  strong  man  and  do  his  name  credit. 
For  yourself,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  make  so  manful  a  struggle  on 
that  uncomfortable  clay  footing,  which,  however,  you  must  not  quite 
quarrel  with.  In  the  darkest  weather  I  always  predict  better  days. 
The  world  is  God's  world,  and  wide  and  fair.  If  they  hamper  us 
too  far,  we  will  try  another  side  of  it.  Meanwhile  I  will  tell  you  a 
fault  you  have  to  guard  against,  and  is  not  that  the  truest  friendship 
that  I  can  show  you?  Every  position  of  man  has  its  temptation,  its 
evil  tendency.  Now  yours  and  mine  I  suspect  to  be  this :  a  tendency 
to  imperiousness,  to  indignant  self-help,  and  if  nowise  theoretical, 
yet  practical,  forgetfulness  and  tyrannical  contempt  of  other  men. 
This  is  wrong;  this  is  tyranny,  I  say;  and  we  ought  to  guard  against 
it.  Be  merciful ;  repress  much  indignation ;  too  much  of  it  will  get 
vent,  after  all.  Evil  destiny  is  nothing;  let  it  labor  us  and  impoverish 
us  as  it  will,  if  it  only  do  not  lame  and  distort  us.  Alas !  I  feel  well 
one  cannot  wholly  help  even  this;  but  we  ought  unweariedly  to  en- 
deavor. " 

To  John  Carlyle,  Rome. 

"  Craigenputtock :  February  25, 1834. 

"We  learned  incidentally  last  week  that  Grace,  our  servant, 
though  '  without  fault  to  us, '  and  whom  we,  with  all  her  inertness, 
were  nothing  but  purposing  to  keep,  had  resolved  on  '  going  home 
next  summer.'  The  cup  that  had  long  been  filling  ran  over  with 
that  smallest  of  drops.  After  meditating  on  it  for  a  few  minutes, 
we  said  to  one  another :  '  Why  not  bolt  out  of  all  these  sooty  despica- 
bilities,  of  Kerrags  and  lying  draggle-tails  of  byre-women,  and  peat- 
moss and  isolation  and  exasperation  and  confusion,  and  go  at  once 
to  London  ?  Gedacht,  gethan!  Two  days  after  we  had  a  letter  on 
the  road  to  Mrs.  Austin,  to  look  out  among  the  '  houses  to  let '  for  us, 
and  an  advertisement  to  MacDiarmid  to  try  for  the  letting  of  our 
own.  Since  then,  you  may  fancy,  our  heads  and  hearts  have  been 
full  of  this  great  enterprise,  the  greatest  (small  as  it  is)  that  I  ever 
knowingly  engaged  in.  We  bring  anxiously  together  all  the  experi- 
ence we  have  gathered  or  got  reported,  look  back  and  look  forward, 
make  the  bravest  resolutions,  and,  in  fine,  seem  to  see  a  trembling 
hope  that  we  may  master  the  enterprise  (of  an  honest  life  in  Lon- 
don) ;  at  all  events,  a  certainty  that  we  ought  to  try  it.  Yes,  we  must 
try  it !  Life  here  is  but  a  kind  of  life-in-death,  or  rather,  one  might 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  241 

say,  a  not-being-born :  one  sits  as  in  the  belly  of  some  Trojan  horse, 
weather-screened,  but  pining,  inactive,  neck  and  heels  crushed  to- 
gether. Let  us  burst  it,  in  the  name  of  God !  Let  us  take  such  an 
existence  as  He  will  give  us,  working  where  work  is  to  be  found 
while  it  is  called  to-day.  A  strange  shiver  runs  through  every  nerve 
of  me  when  I  think  of  taking  that  plunge;  yet  also  a  kind  of  sacred 
faith,  sweet  after  the  dreary  vacuity  of  soul  I  have  through  long  sea- 
sons lived  in  as  under  an  eclipsing  shadow.  I  purpose  to  be  prudent, 
watchful  of  my  words,  to  look  well  about  me,  and  with  all  the 
faculty  I  have  pick  my  steps  in  that  new  arena.  Thousands  of  sillier 
fellows  than  I  flourish  in  it :  the  whole  promotion  I  strive  for  is  sim- 
plest food  and  shelter  in  exchange  for  the  honestest  work  I  can  do. 

"We  purpose  for  many  reasons  to  make  this  a  whole  measure, 
not  a  half  one :  thus  the  first  thing  will  be  to  give  up  our  establish- 
ment here,  to  sell  off  all  the  furniture  but  what  will  equip  a  very 
modest  house  in  the  suburbs  of  London ;  to  let  this  house  if  we  can ; 
if  we  cannot,  to  let  it  stand  there  and  not  waste  more  money.  This 
Jane  calls  a  '  burning  of  our  ships, '  which  suits  better  with  our  pres- 
ent aims  than  anything  else  would.  For  indeed  I  feel  this  is  as  if  the 
last  chance  I  shall  ever  have  to  redeem  my  existence  from  pain  and 
imprisonment,  and  make  something  of  the  faculty  I  have,  before  it 
be  forever  hid  from  my  eyes.  No  looking  back,  then  !  Forward  ! 
Advance  or  perish !  We  imagine  some  suburban  house  may  be  got 
for  401.  Leigh  Hunt  talked  much  about  a  quite  delightful  one  he 
had  (for  'ten  children'  too)  at  Chelsea,  all  wainscoted,  etc.,  for 
thirty  guineas.  With  2001.  we  fancy  the  rigor  of  economy  may  en- 
able us  to  meet  the  year.  I  must  work  and  seek  work ;  before  sink- 
ing utterly  I  will  make  an  '  a-fu '  struggle. 

' '  Our  dear  mother  has  not  heard  of  this ;  for  though  I  wrote  to 
Alick  a  week  ago,  it  was  not  then  thought  of.  It  will  be  a  heavy 
stroke,  yet  not  quite  unanticipated,  and  she  will  brave  it.  My 
brother  and  she  are  the  only  ties  I  have  to  Scotland.  I  will  tell  her 
that,  though  at  a  greater  distance,  we  are  not  to  be  disunited.  Regu- 
lar letters — frequent  visits.  I  will  say  who  knows  but  what  you  and 
I  may  yet  bring  her  up  to  London  to  pass  her  old  days,  waited  on  by 
both  of  us?  Go  whither  she  may,  she  will  have  her  Bible  with  her 
and  her  faith  in  God.  She  is  the  truest  Christian  believer  I  have 
ever  met  with;  nay,  I  might  almost  say  the  only  true  one." 

P.S.  from  Mrs.  Carlyle: 

"My  dear  Brother, — Here  is  a  new  prospect  opened  up  to  us  with 
a  vengeance  !  Am  I  frightened  ?  Not  a  bit.  I  almost  wish  that  I 
felt  more  anxiety  about  our  future;  for  this  composure  is  not  cour- 
age, but  diseased  indifference.  There  is  a  sort  of  incrustation  about  the 
inward  me  which  renders  it  alike  insensible  to  fear  and  to  hope.  I 
suppose  I  am  in  what  Glen  calls  the  chrysalis  state  or  the  state  of  in- 
ciAation.  Let  us  trust  that  like  all  other  states  which  have  a  begin- 
ning it  will  also  have  an  end,  and  that  the  poor  Pysche  shall  at  last 
get  freed.  In  the  meantime,  I  do  what  I  see  to  be  my  duty  as  well 
as  I  can,  and  wish  that  I  could  do  it  better.  It  seems  as  if  the  prob- 
lem of  living  would  be  immensely  simplified  to  me  if  I  had  health. 
It  does  require  such  an  effort  to  keep  one's  self  from  growing  quite 

II.— 11 


242  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

wicked,  while  that  weary  weaver's  shuttle  is  plying  between  my 
temples.  Unhappy  Melina,  etc. !  I  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that 
I  have  had  less  sickness  this  winter  than  in  the  two  preceding  ones, 
which  I  attribute  partly  to  the  change  in  my  pills.  Your  recipe  is 
worn  to  tatters,  but  Glen  copied  it  for  me.  The  note-book  you  gave 
me  is  half  filled  with  such  multifarious  matter !  No  mortal  gets  a 
glimpse  of  it.  I  wish  Carlyle  would  let  me  begin  a  letter  instead  of 
ending  it.  He  leaves  me  nothing  but  dregs  to  impart.  Would  you 
recommend  me  to  sup  on  porridge  and  beer?  Carlyle  takes  it.  We 
have  got  a  dear  little  canary-bird  which  we  call  Chico,  which  sings 
all  day  long  '  like — like  any  tiling.' 

So  ends  the  last  letter  from  Craigenputtock.  "The  ships  were 
burnt, "two  busy  months  being  spent  in  burning  them — disposing 
of  old  books,  old  bedsteads,  kitchen  things,  all  the  rubbish  of  the  es- 
tablishment. The  cows  and  poultry  were  sold.  Mrs.  Carlyle's  pony 
was  sent  to  Scotsbrig.  Friends  in  London  were  busy  looking  out 
for  houses.  Carlyle,  unable  to  work  in  the  confusion,  grew  unbear- 
able, naturally  enough,  to  himself  and  every  one,  and  finally,  at  the 
beginning  of  May,  rushed  off  alone,  believing  that  house-letting  in 
London  was  conducted  on  the  same  rule  as  in  Edinburgh,  and  that, 
unless  he  could  secure  a  home  for  himself  at  Whitsuntide,  he  would 
have  to  wait  till  the  year  had  gone  round.  In  this  hurried  fashion 
he  took  his  own  departure,  leaving  his  wife  to  pack  what  they  did 
not  intend  to  part  with,  and  to  follow  at  her  leisure  when  the  new 
habitation  had  been  decided  on.  Mill  had  sent  his  warmest  con- 
gratulations when  he  learned  that  the  final  resolution  had  been  taken. 
Carlyle,  who  had  settled  himself  while  house -hunting  at  his  old 
lodgings  in  Ampton  Street,  sent  his  brother  John  a  brief  account  of 
his  final  leave-taking  of  Scotland. 

To  John  Carlyle. 

"4  Ampton  Street  :  May  18. 

"  With  regard  to  our  dear  mother,  I  bid  you  comfort  yourself  with 
the  assurance  that  she  is  moderately  well.  She  adjusts  herself  with 
the  old  heroism  to  the  new  circumstances ;  agrees  that  I  must  come 
hither;  parts  from  me  with  the  stillest  face,  more  touching  than  if  it 
had  been  all  beteared.  I  said  to  Alick,  as  we  drove  up  the  Purdams- 
town  brae  that  morning,  that  I  thought,  if  I  had  all  the  mothers  I 
ever  saw  to  choose  from,  I  would  have  chosen  my  own.  She  is  to 
have  Harry,1  and  can  ride  very  well  on  him,  will  go  down  awhile  to 
sea-bathing  at  Mary's,  and  will  spend  the  summer  tolerably  enough. 
For  winter  I  left  her  the  task  of  spinning  me  a  plaid  dressing-gown, 
with  which,  if  she  get  too  soon  done,  she  may  spin  another  for  you. 
She  has  books,  above  all  her  Book,  She  trusts  in  God,  and  shall  not 
be  put  to  shame.  While  she  was  at  Craigenputtock  I  made  her  train 
me  to  two  song- tunes;  and  we  often  sang  them  together,  and  tried 

1  The  pony. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  243 

them  often  again  in  coming  down  into  Annandale.  One  of  them  I 
actually  found  myself  humming  with  a  strange  cheerfully  pathetic 
feeling  when  I  first  came  in  sight  of  huge  smoky  Babylon — 

'  For  there's  seven  foresters  in  yon  forest, 
And  them  I  want  to  see,  see, 
And  them  I  want  to  see. ' 

I  wrote  her  a  little  note  yesterday,  and  told  her  this. " 

Thus  the  six  years'  imprisonment  on  the  Dumfriesshire  moors 
came  to  an  end.  To  Carlyle  himself  they  had  been  years  of  inesti- 
mable value.  If  we  compare  the  essay  on  Jean  Paul,  which  he 
wrote  at  Comely  Bank, with  the  "Diamond  Necklace,"  his  last  work 
at  Craigenputtock,  we  see  the  leap  from  promise  to  fulfilment,  from 
the  immature  energy  of  youth  to  the  full  intellectual  strength  of 
completed  manhood.  The  solitude  had  compelled  him  to  digest  his 
thoughts.  In  "Sartor "he  had  relieved  his  soul  of  its  perilous  se- 
cretions by  throwing  out  of  himself  his  personal  sufferings  and  phys- 
ical and  spiritual  experience.  He  had  read  omnivorously  far  and 
wide.  His  memory  was  a  magazine  of  facts  gathered  over  the  whole 
surface  of  European  literature  and  history.  The  multiplied  allu- 
sions in  every  page  of  his  later  essays,  so  easy,  so  unlabored,  reveal 
the  wealth  which  he  had  accumulated,  and  the  fulness  of  his  com- 
mand over  his  possessions.  His  religious  faith  had  gained  solidity. 
His  confidence  in  the  soundness  of  his  own  convictions  was  no  longer 
clouded  with  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  The  "History  of  the  French 
Revolution, "the  most  powerful  of  all  his  works,  and  the  only  one 
which  has  the  character  of  a  work  of  art,  was  the  production  of  the 
mind  which  he  brought  with  him  from  Craigenputtock,  undisturbed 
by  the  contradictions  and  excitements  of  London  society  and  Lon- 
don triumphs.  He  had  been  tried  in  the  furnace.  Poverty,  morti- 
fication, and  disappointment  had  done  their  work  upon  him,  and  he 
had  risen  above  them  elevated,  purified,  and  strengthened.  Even 
the  arrogance  and  self-assertion  which  Lord  Jeffrey  supposed  to 
have  been  developed  in  him  by  living  away  from  conflict  with  other 
minds,  had  been  rather  tamed  than  encouraged  by  his  lonely  medita- 
tions. It  was  rather  collision  with  those  who  differed  with  him 
which  fostered  his  imperiousness;  for  Carlyle  rarely  met  with  an 
antagonist  whom  he  could  not  overbear  with  the  torrent  of  his  met- 
aphors, while  to  himself  his  note-books  show  that  he  read  many  a 
lecture  on  humility. 

He  had  laid  in,  too,  on  the  moors,  a  stock  of  robust  health.  Lam- 
entations over  indigestion  and  want  of  sleep  are  almost  totally  absent 
from  the  letters  written  from  Craigenputtock.  The  simple,  natural 
life,  the  wholesome  air,  the  daily  rides  or  drives,  the  pure  food — 
milk,  cream,  eggs,  oatmeal,  the  best  of  their  kind — had  restored  com- 
pletely the  functions  of  a  stomach  never,  perhaps,  so  far  wrong  as 


244  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

he  had  imagined.  Carlyle  had  ceased  to  complain  on  this  head,  and 
in  a  person  so  extremely  vocal  when  anything  was  amiss  with  him, 
silence  is  the  best  evidence  that  there  was  nothing  to  complain  of. 
On  the  moors,  as  at  Mainhill,  at  Edinburgh,  or  in  London  afterwards, 
he  was  always  impatient,  moody,  irritable,  violent.  These  humors 
were  in  his  nature,  and  could  no  more  be  separated  from  them  than 
his  body  could  leap  off  its  shadow.  But,  intolerable  as  he  had  found 
Craigenputtock  in  the  later  years  of  his  residence  there,  he  looked 
back  to  it  afterwards  as  the  happiest  and  wholesomest  home  that  he 
had  ever  known.  He  could  do  fully  twice  as  much  work  there,  he 
said,  as  he  could  ever  do  afterwards  in  London ;  and  many  a  time, 
when  sick  of  fame  and  clatter  and  interruption,  he  longed  to  return 
to  it. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle  Craigenputtock  had  been  a  less  salutary  home. 
She  might  have  borne  the  climate,  and  even  benefited  by  it,  if  the 
other  conditions  had  been  less  ungenial.  But  her  life  there,  to  be- 
gin with,  had  been  a  life  of  menial  drudgery,  unsolaced  (for  she 
could  have  endured  and  even  enjoyed  mere  hardship)  by  more  than 
an  occasional  word  of  encouragement  or  sympathy  or  compassion 
from  her  husband.  To  him  it  seemed  perfectly  natural  that  what 
his  mother  did  at  Scotsbrig  his  wife  should  do  for  him.  Every 
household  duty  fell  upon  her,  either  directly,  or  in  supplying  the 
shortcomings  of  a  Scotch  maid-of-all-work.  She  had  to  cook,  to 
sew,  to  scour,  to  clean;  to  gallop  down  alone  to  Dumfries  if  any- 
thing was  wanted ;  to  keep  the  house,  and  even  on  occasions  to  milk 
the  cows.  Miss  Jewsbury  has  preserved  many  anecdotes  of  the  Craig- 
enputtock life,  showing  how  hard  a  time  her  friend  had  of  it  there. 
Carlyle,  though  disposed  at  first  to  dismiss  these  memories  as  leg- 
ends, yet  admitted,  on  reflection,  that  for  all  there  was  a  certain  foun- 
dation. The  errors,  if  any,  can  be  no  more  than  the  slight  altera- 
tions of  form  which  stories  naturally  receive  in  repetition.  A  lady 
brought  up  in  luxury  has  been  educated  into  physical  unfitness  for 
so  sharp  a  discipline.  Mrs.  Carlyle's  bodily  health  never  recovered 
from  the  strain  of  those  six  years.  The  trial  to  her  mind  and  to  her 
nervous  system  was  still  more  severe.  Nature  had  given  her,  along 
with  a  powerful  understanding,  a  disposition  singularly  bright  and 
buoyant.  The  Irving  disappointment  had  been  a  blow  to  her;  but 
wounds  which  do  not  kill  are  cured.  They  leave  a  scar,  but  the  pain 
ceases.  It  was  long  over;  and  if  Carlyle  had  been  a  real  companion 
to  her,  she  would  have  been  as  happy  with  him  as  wives  usually  are. 
But  he  was  not  a  companion  at  all.  "When  he  was  busy  she  rarely 
so  much  as  saw  him,  save,  as  he  himself  pathetically  tells,  when  she 
would  steal  into  his  dressing-room  in  the  morning  when  he  was  shav- 
ing, to  secure  that  little  of  his  society.  The  loneliness  of  Craigen- 
puttock was  dreadful  to  her.  Her  hard  work,  perhaps,  had  so  far 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  245 

something  of  a  blessing  in  it,  that  it  was  a  relief  from  the  intolera- 
ble pressure.  For  months  together,  especially  after  Alick  Carlyle 
had  gone,  they  never  saw  the  face  of  guest  or  passing  stranger.  So 
still  the  moors  were  that  she  could  hear  the  sheep  nibbling  the  grass 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  For  the  many  weeks  when  the  snow  was  on 
the  ground  she  could  not  stir  beyond  the  garden,  or  even  beyond  her 
door.  She  had  no  great  thoughts,  as  Carlyle  had,  to  occupy  her  with 
the  administration  of  the  universe.  He  had  deranged  the  faith  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up,  but  he  had  not  inoculated  her  with 
his  own;  and  a  dull  gloom,  sinking  at  last  almost  to  apathy,  fell 
upon  her  spirits.  She  fought  against  it,  like  a  brave  woman  as  she 
was.  Carlyle's  own  views  of  the  prospects  of  men  in  this  world  were 
not  brilliant.  In  his  "  Miscellanies  "  is  a  small  poem,  written  at 
Craigenputtock,  called  "Cui  Bono?"  giving  a  most  unpromising 
sketch  of  human  destiny : 

"  Cut  Bono? 

"  What  is  Hope  ?  a  smiling  rainbow 

Children  follow  through  the  wet; 
'Tis  not  here,  still  yonder,  yonder  I 
Never  urchin  found  it  yet. 

"  What  is  Life  ?  a  thawing  iceboard 

On  a  sea  with  sunny  shore. 
Gay  we  sail — it  melts  beneath  us! 
We  are  sunk,  and  seen  no  more. 

"  What  is  Man  ?  a  foolish  baby ; 

Vainly  strives  and  fights  and  frets; 
Demanding  all — deserving  nothing ! 
One  small  grave  is  what  he  gets. " 

In  one  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  note-books  I  find  an  "Answer"  to  this, 
dated  1830: 

"  Nay,  this  is  Hope:  a  gentle  dove, 

That  nestles  in  the  gentle  breast, 
Bringing  glad  tidings  from  above 
Of  joys  to  come  and  heavenly  rest. 

"And  this  is  Life:  ethereal  fire 

Striving  aloft  through  smothering  clay; 
Mounting,  tlaming,  higher,  higherl 
Till  lost  in  immortality. 

"  And  Mau — oh !  hate  not  nor  despise 
The  fairest,  lordliest  work  of  God  ! 
Think  not  He  made  the  good  and  wise 
Only  to  sleep  beneath  the  sod!" 

Carlyle  himself  recognized  occasionally  that  she  was  not  happy. 
Intentionally  unkind  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be.  After  his 
mother,  he  loved  his  wife  better  than  any  one  in  the  world.  He  was 
only  occupied,  unperceiving,  negligent;  and,  when  he  did  see  that 
anything  was  wrong  with  her,  he  was  at  once  the  tenderest  of  hus- 
bands. 


246  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

In  some  such  transient  state  of  consciousness,  he  wrote,  on  Janu- 
ary 29,  1830: 

The  Sigh. 

"  Oh  !  sigh  not  so,  my  fond  and  faithful  wife, 

In  sad  remembrance  or  in  boding  fear: 
This  is  not  life— this  phantasm  type  of  life  ! 
What  is  there  to  rejoice  or  mourn  for  hereT 

"  Be  it  no  wealth,  nor  fame,  nor  post  is  ours — 

Small  blessedness  for  infinite  desire; 
But  has  the  King  his  wish  in  Windsor's  towers? 
Or  but  the  common  lot — meat,  clothes,  and  lire  ? 

"  Lone  stands  our  home  amid  the  sullen  moor, 

Its  threshold  by  few  friendly  feet  betrod; 
Yet  we  are  here,  we  two,  still  true  though  poor: 
And  this,  too,  is  the  world — the  '  city  of  God ! ' 

"  O'erhangs  us  not  the  infinitude  of  sky, 

Where  all  the  starry  lights  revolve'and  shine  1 
Does  not  that  universe  within  us  lie 
And  move — its  Maker  or  itself  divine? 

•"And  we,  my  love,  life's  waking  dream  once  done, 
Shall  sleep  to  wondrous  lands  on  other's  breast; 
And  all  we  loved  and  toiled  for,  one  by  one, 
Shall  join  us  there,  and,  wearied,  be  at  rest. 

"Then  sigh  not  so,  my  fond  and  faithful  wife, 

But,  striving  well,  have  hope,  be  of  good  cheer; 
Not  rest,  but  worthy  labor,  is  the  soul  of  life ; 

Not  that,  but  this,  is  to  be  looked  and  wished  for  here." 

If  the  occasional  tenderness  of  these  lines  could  have  been  formed 
into  a  habit,  Mrs.  Carlyle  might  have  borne  Craigenputtock  less  im- 
patiently, and,  as  her  bodily  ailments  were  chiefly  caused  by  exposure 
and  overwork,  she  would  probably  have  escaped  the  worst  of  them, 
because  she  would  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  take  care  of  herself. 

Of  the  solitude  and  of  the  strange  figures  moving  about  the  moor,  to 
make  the  desolation  more  sensible,  Carlyle  has  left  a  singular  picture. 

"  Old  Esther,  whose  death  came  one  of  our  early  Avinters,  was  a  bit 
of  memorability  in  that  altogether  vacant  scene.  I  forget  the  old 
•woman's  surname,  perhaps  McGeorge,  but  well  recall  her  heavy, 
lumpish  figure,  lame  of  a  foot,  and  her  honest,  quiet,  not  stupid 
countenance  of  mixed  ugliness  and  stoicism.  She  lived  above  a 
mile  from  us  in  a  poor  cottage  of  the  next  farm. J  Esther  had  been 
a  laird's  daughter,  riding  her  palfrey  at  one  time,  but  had  gone  to 
wreck,  father  and  self;  a  special  'misfortune'  (so  they  delicately 
name  it)  being  of  Esther's  producing.  Misfortune  in  the  shape  ulti- 
mately of  a  solid  tall  ditcher,  very  good  to  his  old  mother  Esther, 
had  just  before  our  coming  perished  miserably  one  night  on  the 
shoulder  of  Dunscore  Hill  (found  dead  there  next  morning),  which 
had  driven  his  poor  old  mother  up  to  this  thriftier  hut  and  silent 
mode  of  living  in  our  moorland  part  of  the  parish.  She  did  not 
beg,  nor  had  my  Jeannie  much  to  have  given  her  of  help  (perhaps 

1  "  Carson's,  of  Nether  Craigenputtock,  very  stupid  young  brother  used  to  come  and 
bore  me  at  rare  intervals. — T.  C. " 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  247 

on  occasions  milk,  old  warm  clothes,  etc.),  though  always  very  sorry 
for  her  last  sad  bereavement  of  the  stalwart,  affectionate  son.  I  re- 
member one  frosty  kind  of  forenoon,  while  walking  meditative  to 
the  top  of  our  hill,  the  silence  was  complete,  all  but  one  '  click 
clack '  heard  regularly  like  a  far-off  spondee  or  iambus,  a  great  way 
to  my  right,  no  other  sound  in  nature.  On  looking  sharply,  I  dis- 
covered it  to  be  old  Esther,  on  the  highway,  crippling  along,  tow- 
ards our  house  most  probably.  Poor  old  soul!  thought  I.  What  a 
desolation!  But  you  will  meet  a  kind  face  too,  perhaps.  Heaven 
is  over  all. 

"Not  long  after  poor  old  Esther  sank  to  bed — death-bed,  as  my 
Jane,  who  had  a  quick  and  sure  eye  in  these  things,  well  judged  it 
would  be.  Sickness  did  not  last  above  ten  days :  my  poor  wife  zeal- 
ously assiduous  and  with  a  minimum  of  fuss  and  noise.  I  remem- 
ber those  few  poor  days  full  of  human  interest  to  her,  and  through 
her  to  me;  and  of  a  human  pity  not  painful,  but  sweet  and  genuine. 
She  went  walking  every  morning,  especially  every  night,  to  arrange 
the  poor  bed,  etc.  —  nothing  but  rudish  hands,  rude  though  kind 
enough,  being  about ;  the  poor  old  woman  evidently  gratified  by  it, 
and  heart  thankful,  and  almost  to  the  very  end  giving  clear  sign  of 
that.  Something  pathetic  in  old  Esther  and  her  exit;  nay,  if  I  right- 
ly bethink  me,  that  '  click-clack '  pilgrimage  had,  in  fact,  been  a  last 
visit  to  Craigenputtock  with  some  poor  bit  of  crockery,  some  gray- 
lettered  butter-plate,  which  I  used  to  see  '  as  a  wee  memorandum  o' 
me,  mem,  when  I  am  gone.'  'Memorandum'  was  her  word,  and  I 
remember  the  poor  little  platter  for  years  after.  Poor  old  Esther 
had  awoke  that  frosty  morning  with  the  feeling  that  she  would  soon 
die,  that  the  '  bonny  leddy '  had  been  '  unco  guid '  to  her,  and  that 
there  was  still  that  'wee  bit  memorandum.'  Nay,  I  think  she  had, 
or  had  once  had,  the  remains  or  complete  ghost  of  a  '  fine  old  riding 
habit,'  once  her  own,  which  the  curious  had  seen,  but  this  she  had 
judged  it  more  polite  to  leave  to  the  parish." 

Enough  of  Craigenputtock.     The  scene  shifts  to  London. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A.  D.  1834.    ,ET.  39. 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"  London:  May  24, 1834. — What  a  word  is  there  !  I  left  home  on 
Thursday  last  (five  days  ago),  and  see  myself  still  with  astonishment 
here  seeking  houses.  The  parting  with  my  sister  Jean,  who  had 
driven  down  with  me  to  Dumfries,  was  the  first  of  the  partings;  that 
with  my  dear  mother  next  day,  with  poor  Mary  at  Annan,  with  my 
two  brothers  Alick  and  Jamie — all  these  things  were  to  be  done. 
Shall  we  meet  again?  Shall  our  meeting  again  be  for  good?  God 
grant  it.  We  are  in  his  hands.  This  is  all  the  comfort  I  have.  As 
to  my  beloved  and  now  aged  mother,  it  is  sore  upon  me — so  sore  as 
I  have  felt  nothing  of  the  sort  since  boyhood.  She'paid  her  last  vis- 
it at  Craigenputtock  the  week  before,  and  had  attached  me  much,  if 


248  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

I  could  have  been  more  attached,  by  her  quiet  way  of  taking  that 
sore  trial.  She  studied  not  to  sink  my  heart;  she  shed  no  tear  at 
parting,  and  so  I  drove  off  with  poor  Alick  in  quest  of  new  fortunes. 
May  the  Father  of  all,  to  whom  she  daily  prays  for  me,  be  ever  near 
her  !  May  He,  if  it  be  His  will,  grant  us  a  glad  re-meeting  and  re- 
union in  a  higher  country.  But  no  more  of  this.  Words  are  worse 
than  vain.  I  am  here  in  my  old  lodging  at  Ampton  Street,  wearied, 
and  without  books,  company,  or  other  resource.  The  Umpire  coach 
from  Liverpool.  Through  the  arch  at  Holloway  came  first  in  sight 
of  huge  smoky  London,  humming,  in  a  kind  of  defiance,  my  moth- 
er's tune  of  '  Johnny  O'Cox.'  Find  this  lodging.  Mrs.  Austin  very 
kind.  See  several  houses.  Disappointed  in  all.  Kensington  very 
dirty  and  confused.  Sleep — sweet  sleep.  This  day  busy,  with  little 
work  done;  my  feet  all  lamed,  and  not  above  one  house  seen  that  in 
any  measure  looks  like  fitting. 

"Went  to  Mrs.  Austin,  through  the  Park  and  Gardens.  Find  a 
Mrs.  Jamieson — a  shrewd-looking,  hard-tempered,  red-haired  woman, 
whom  I  care  little  about  meeting  again.  Look  at  many  houses  with 
them.  Edward  Irving  starts  up  from  a  seat  in  Kensington  Gardens, 
as  I  was  crossing  it  with  these  two,  and  runs  towards  me.  The  good 
Edward  !  He  looked  pale,  worn,  unsound,  very  unhealthy.  At  the 
house  we  were  going  to  no  key  could  be  got:  no  this,  no  that.  Miss 
my  dinner.  Innkeepers  can  give  me  none.  Dine  with  a  dairyman 
on  bread  and  milk  beside  his  cows — a  most  interesting  meal.  Charge 
three-halfpence,  I  having  furnished  bread.  Gave  the  man  sixpence, 
because  I  liked  him.  Will  see  the  poor  fellow  again,  perhaps.  Hunt's ' 
household  in  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea.  Nondescript !  unutterable  ! 
Mrs.  Hunt  asleep  on  cushions;  four  or  five  beautiful,  strange,  gypsy- 
looking  children  running  about  in  undress,  whom  the  lady  ordered 
to  get  us  tea.  The  eldest  boy,  Percy,  a  sallow,  black-haired  youth  of 
sixteen,  with  a  kind  of  dark  cotton  nightgown  on,  went  whirling 
about  like  a  familiar,  providing  everything :  an  indescribable  dream- 
like household.  Am  to  go  again  to-morrow  to  see  if  there  be  any 
houses,  and  what  they  are.  Bedtime  now,  and  so  good  -  night,  ye 
loved  ones.  My  heart's  blessing  be  with  all!" 

Those  who  have  studied  Carlyle's  writings  as  they  ought  to  be 
studied  know  that  shrewd  practical  sense  underlies  always  his  met- 
aphorical extravagances.  In  matters  of  business  he  was  the  most 
prudent  of  men.  He  had  left  his  wife  at  Craigenputtock  to  pack  up, 
and  had  plunged,  himself,  into  the  whirlpool  of  house-hunting.  He 
very  soon  discovered  that  there  was  no  hurry,  and  that  he  was  not 
the  best  judge  in  such  matters.  He  understood — the  second  best 
form  of  wisdom — that  he  did  not  understand,  and  forbore  to  come 
to  any  resolution  till  Mrs.  Carlyle  could  join  him.  He  wrote  to  her, 
giving  a  full  account  of  his  experiences: 

"The  female  head  [he  said]  is  not  without  a  shrewdness  of  its  own 
in  these  affairs.  Moreover,  ought  not  nay  little  coagitor  to  have  a 

'  Leigh  Hunt. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  249 

vote  herself  in  the  choice  of  an  abode  which  is  to  be  ours?  The 
sweet  word  ours!  The  blessed  ordinance — let  Hunt  say  what  he 
•will '  — by  which  all  things  are  forever  one  between  us  and  separa- 
tion an  impossibility.  Unless  you  specially  order  it,  no  final  arrange- 
ment shall  be  made  till  we  both  make  it." 

Carlyle  had  not  been  idle — had  walked,  as  he  said,  till  his  feet 
were  lamed  under  him.  He  had  searched  in  Brompton,  in  Kensing- 
ton, about  the  Regent's  Park.  He  had  seen  many  houses  more  or 
less  desirable,  more  or  less  objectionable.  For  himself,  he  inclined, 
on  the  whole,  to  one  which  Leigh  Hunt  had  found  for  him  near  the 
river  in  Chelsea.  Leigh  Hunt  lived  with  his  singular  family  at  No. 
4  Upper  Cheyne  Row.  About  sixty  yards  off,  about  the  middle  of 
Great  Cheyne  Row,  which  runs  at  right  angles  to  the  other,  there 
was  a  house  which  fixed  his  attention.  Twice  he  went  over  it.  "It 
is  notable,'  he  said,  'how  at  each  new  visit  your  opinion  gets  a  little 
hitch  the  contrary  way  from  its  former  tendency.  Imagination  has 
outgone  the  reality.  I  nevertheless  still  feel  a  great  liking  for  this 
excellent  old  house.  Chelsea  is  unfashionable :  it  was  once  the  re- 
sort of  the  Court  and  great,  however;  hence  numerous  old  houses 
in  it  at  once  cheap  and  excellent." 

A  third  inspection  produced  a  fuller  description — description  of 
the  place  as  it  was  fifty  years  ago,  and  not  wholly  incorrect  of  its  pres- 
ent condition;  for  Cheyne  Row  has  changed  less  than  most  other 
streets  in  London.  The  Embankment  had  yet  forty  years  to  wait. 

"The  street  [Carlyle  wrote]  runs  down  upon  the  river,  which  I 
suppose  you  might  see  by  stretching  out  your  head  from  the  front 
window,  at  a  distance  of  fifty  yards  on  the  left.  We  are  called 
'  Cheyne  Row '  proper  (pronounced  Chainie  Row),  and  are  a  '  gen- 
teel neighborhood;'  two  old  ladies  on  one  side,  unknown  character 
on  the  other,  but  with  '  pianos.'  The  street  is  flag-pathed,  sunk-sto- 
ried, iron-railed,  all  old-fashioned  and  tightly  done  up;  looks  out  on 
a  rank  of  sturdy  old  pollarded  (that  is,  beheaded)  lime-trees  standing 
there  like  giants  in  tatrtie  wigs  (for  the  new  boughs  are  still  young); 
beyond  this  a  high  brick  wall ;  backwards  a  garden,  the  size  of  our 
back  one  at  Comely  Bank,  with  trees,  etc.,  in  bad  culture;  beyond 
tin*  trreen  hayfields  and  tree  avenues,  once  a  bishop's  pleasure- 
grounds,  and  unpicturesque  yet  rather  cheerful  outlook.  The  house 
itself  is  eminent,  antique,  wainscoted  to  the  very  ceiling,  and  has 
been  all  new-painted  and  repaired;  broadish  stair  with  massive  bal- 
ustrade (in  the  old  style),  corniced  and  as  thick  as  one's  thigh;  floors 
thick  as  a  rock,  wood  of  them  here  and  there  worm-eaten,  yet  capa- 
ble of  cleanness,  and  still  with  thrice  the  strength  of  a  modern  floor. 
And  then  as  to  rooms,  Goody!  Three  stories  beside  the  sunk  story, 
in  every  one  of  them  three  apartments,  in  depth  something  like  forty 
feet  in 'all — a  front  dining-room  (marble  chimney-piece,  etc.),  then  a 
back  dining-room  or  breakfast-room,  a  little  narrower  by  reason  of 

i  Leigh  Hunt  advocated  "women's  rights"  in  marriage  arrangements. 
II.— 11* 


250  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

the  kitchen  stairs;  then  out  of  this,  and  narrower  still  (to  allow  a 
back-window,  you  consider)  a  china-room  or  pantry,  or  I  know 
not  what,  all  shelved  and  fit  to  hold  crockery  for  the  whole  street. 
Such  is  the  ground  area,  which  of  course  continues  to  the  top,  and 
furnishes  every  bedroom  with  a  dressing-room  or  second  bedroom; 
on  the  whole,  a  most  massive,  roomy,  sufficient  old  house, with  places, 
for  example,  to  hang,  say  three  dozen  hats  or  cloaks  on,  and  as 
many  crevices  and  queer  old  presses  and  shelved  closets  (all  tight 
and  new-painted  in  their  way)  as  would  gratify  the  most  covetous 
Goody — rent  thirty-five  pounds!  I  confess  I  am  strongly  tempted. 
Chelsea  is  a  singular,  heterogeneous  kind  of  spot,  very  dirty  and  con- 
fused in  some  places,  quite  beautiful  in  others,  abounding  with  an- 
tiquities and  the  traces  of  great  men — Sir  Thomas  More,  Steele,  Smol- 
lett, etc.  Our  row,  which  for  the  last  three  doors  or  so  is  a  street,  and 
none  of  the  noblest,  runs  out  upon  a  '  Parade '  (perhaps  they  call  it) 
running  along  the  shore  of  the  river,  a  broad  highway  with  huge 
shady  trees,  boats  lying  moored,  and  a  smell  of  shipping  and  tan. 
Battersea  Bridge  (of  wood)  a  few  yards  off;  the  broad  river  with 
white-trousered,  white-shirted  Cockneys  dashing  by  like  arrows  in 
thin  long  canoes  of  boats ;  beyond,  the  green  beautiful  knolls  of  Sur- 
rey with  their  villages — on  the  whole,  a  most  artificial,  green-paint- 
ed, yet  lively,  fresh,  almost  opera-looking  business,  such  as  you  can 
fancy.  Finally,  Chelsea  abounds  more  than  any  place  in  omnibi, 
and  they  take  you  to  Coventry  Street  for  sixpence.  Revolve  all 
this  in  thy  fancy  and  judgment,  my  child,  and  see  what  thou  canst 
make  of  it." 

The  discovery  of  this  Chelsea  house  had  been  so  gratifying  that 
more  amiable  views  could  be  taken,  and  more  interest  felt,  with  the 
other  conditions  of  London  life. 

"Let  me  now  treat  thee  to  a  budget  of  small  news  [he  goes  on]. 
Mill  I  have  not  yet  seen  again :  we  could  make  no  appointment,  be- 
ing so  unfixed  as  yet.  Mrs.  Austin  had  a  tragical  story  of  his  hav- 
ing fallen  desperately  in  love  with  some  young  philosophic  beauty 
(yet  with  the  innocence  of  two  sucking  doves),  and  being  lost 
to  all  his  friends  and  to  himself,  and  what  not;  but  I  traced  nothing 
of  this  in  poor  Mill ;  and  even  incline  to  think  that  what  truth  there 
is  or  was  in  his  adventure  may  have  done  him  good.  Buller  also 
spoke  of  it,  but  in  the  comic  vein.  Irving  I  have  not  again  seen, 
though  I  have  tried  four  times;  yesterday  twice  (at  Bayswater),  and 
the  second  time  with  great  disappointment.  He  seems  to  be  under 
the  care  of  a  Scotch  sick-nurse  there ;  was  said  to  be  '  asleep '  when  I 
called  first,  then  gone  (contrary  to  my  appointment)  when  I  called 
the  second  time.  He  rides  twice  a  day  down  to  that  Domdaniel  in 
Newman  Street,  rises  at  five  in  the  morning,  goes  to  bed  at  nine,  is 
'very  weak.'  I  had  refused  dinner  at  the  Austins'  for  his  sake;  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  might  have  clutched  him  from  perdition  and 
death,  and  now  we  were  not  to  meet  again.  My  poor  Edward !  Heu, 
quantum  mutatus!  But  I  will  make  a  new  trial.  Heraud  said  to  me, 
quite  in  the  cursory  style,  '  Aaving  [Irving]  is  dying  and  a — a — !' 
Heraud  himself  ('mad  as  a  March  hare,' Fraser  said)  lives  close  by 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  251 

Ampton  Street,  and  is  exceedingly  hedge  about  me,  anxious  beyond 
measure  for  golden  opinions  of  his  God-dedicated  Epic — of  which  I 
would  not  tell  him  any  lie,  greatly  as  he  tempted  me. 

"Fraser  did  not  open  freely  to  me,  yet  was  opening.  Literature 
still  all  a  mystery;  nothing  '  paying;'  '  Teuf elsdrdckh '  beyond  meas- 
ure unpopular.  An  oldest  subscriber  came  in  to  him  and  said,  '  If 
there  is  any  more  of  that  d— d  stuff,  I  will,  etc. ,  etc. ;'  on  the  other 
hand,  an  order  from  America  (Boston  or  Philadelphia)  to  send  a  copy 
of  the  magazine  'so  long  as  there  was  anything  of  Carlyle's  in  it.' 
'  One  spake  up  and  the  other  spake  down :'  on  the  whole,  Goody,  I 
have  a  great  defiance  of  all  that.  As  to  '  fame '  and  the  like,  in  very 
truth,  in  this  state  of  the  public,  it  is  a  thing  one  is  always  better 
without;  so  I  really  saw  and  felt  the  other  night,  clearly  for  the  first 
time.  Miss  Martineau,  for  example,  is  done  again;  going 'to  Ameri- 
ca to  try  a  new  tack  when  she  returns — so  are  they  all,  or  will  inev- 
itably all  be  done;  extinguished  and  abolished;  for  they  are  nothing, 
and  were  only  called  (and  made  to  fancy  themselves)  something. 
Mrs.  Austin  herself  seems  to  me  in  a  kind  of  trial  state;  risen  or  ris- 
ing to  where  she  cannot  hope  to  stand;  where  it  will  be  well  if  she 
feels  no  giddiness,  as  indeed  I  really  hope  she  will.  A  most  excel- 
lent creature,  of  surveyable  limits;  her  goodness  will  in  all  cases 
save  her.  Buller  is  better  and  went  yesterday  (I  fancy)  to  'the 
House.'  We  have  had  two  long  talks  (on  occasion  of  the  franks) 
with  great  mutual  delight.  An  intelligent,  clear,  honest,  most  kind- 
ly vivacious  creature;  the  geniallest  Radical  I  have  ever  met.  He 
throws  light  for  me  on  many  things,  being  very  ready  to  speak. 
Mrs.  Austin  spoke  ominously  of  his  health,  but  to  my  seeing  with- 
out much  ground.  Charlie,  I  think,  will  be  among  my  little  com- 
forts here. 

"The  Duke,  now  plain  Mr.  Jeffrey,  but  soon  to  be  Lord  Jeffrey, 
is  still  here  for  a  week;  he  has  left  his  address  for  me  with  Mr.  Aus- 
tin. I  determined  to  call  some  morning  in  passing,  and  did  it  on 
Monday.  Reception  anxiously  cordial  from  all  three;  hurried,  in- 
significant talk  from  him  still  at  the  breakfast-table ;  kindness  play* 
ing  over  '  iron  gravity '  from  me.  I  felt  it  to  be  a  farewell  visit,  and 
that  it  should  be  '  hallowed  in  our  choicest  mood.'  The  poor  Duke 
is  so  tremulous,  he  bade  me  'good  evening'  at  the  door;  immense 
jerking  from  Mrs.  Jeffrey,  yet  many  kind  words  and  invitations 
back.  .  .  .  And  so  ends  our  dealing  with  bright  Jeffreydom,  once 
so  sparkling,  cheerful,  now  gone  out  into  darkness — which  shall  not 
become  foul  candlestuff  vapor,  but  darkness  only.  Empson  is  still 
alive;  but  I  surely  will  not  seek  him.  Napier,  too,  is  here,  or  was; 
him,  too,  I  will  nowise  seek  or  meddle  with — the  hungry  simula- 
crum." 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"4  Ampton  Street,  London:  May  30, 1834. 

"My  dear  Mother, — How  often  have  I  thought  of  you  since  we 
parted,  in  all  varieties  of  solemn  moods,  only  seldom  or  never  in  a 
purely  sad  or  painful  one  !  My  most  constant  feeling  is  one  not 
without  a  certain  sacredness:  I  determine  to  live  worthily  of  such  a 
mother;  to  know  always,  like  her,  that  we  are  ever  in  our  great 


252  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Taskmaster's  eye,  with  whom  are  the  issues  not  of  time  only,  which 
is  but  a  short  vision,  but  of  eternity,  which  ends  not  and  is  a  reality. 
Oh  that  I  could  keep  these  things  forever  clear  before  me!  my  whole 
prayer  with  regard  to  life  were  gratified.  But  these  things  also 
should  not  make  us  gloomy  or  sorrowful :  far  from  that.  Have  we 
not,  as  you  often  say,  '  many  mercies '  ?  Is  not  the  light  to  see  that 
they  are  mercies  the  first  and  greatest  of  these? 

"Assure  yourself,  my  dear  mother,  that  all  goes  well.  In  regard 
to  health,  this  incessant  toil,  and  even  irregular  living,  seems  to  agree 
with  me.  I  take  no  drugs.  I  really  feel  fresher  and  stronger  than 
I  used  to  do  among  the  moorlands.  Moreover,  I  never  was  farther 
in  my  life  from  '  fining  heart,'  which  I  know  well  were  to  '  tine  all." 
Not  a  bit  of  me!  I  walk  along  these  tumultuous  streets  with  noth- 
ing but  a  feeling  of  kindness,  of  brotherly  pity,  towards  all.  No 
loudest  boasting  of  man's  strikes  any,  the  smallest,  terror  into  me  for 
the  present;  indeed,  how  should  it  when  no  loudest  boasting  and 
threatening  of  the  Devil  himself  would?  He  nor  they  'cannot  hin- 
der thee  of  God's  providence.'  No,  they  cannot.  I  have  the  clear- 
est certainty  that,  if  work  is  appointed  me  here  to  do,  it  must  and 
will  be  done,  and  means  found  for  doing  it.  So  fear  nothing,  my 
dear  mother.  Tom  will  endeavor  not  to  disgrace  you  in  this  new 
position  more  than  in  others. 

"I  have  seen  some  book-publishing  persons,  some  ' literary  men ' 
also.  The  great  proportion  are  indubitablest  duds:  these,  top,  we 
must  let  pass,  and  even  welcome  when  they  meet  us  with  kindliness. 
By  far  the  sensiblest  man  I  see  is  Mill,  who  seems  almost  fonder  of 
me  than  ever.  The  class  he  belongs  to  has  the  farther  merit  of  "being 
genuine  and  honest  so  far  as  they  go.  I  think  it  is  rather  with  that 
class  that  I  shall  connect  myself  than  with  any  other;1  but  still,  in 
many  important  respects,  I  have  to  expect  to  find  myself  alone. 
Charles  Buller  is  grown  a  very  promising  man,  likely  to  do  good  in 
the  world,  if  his  health  were  only  better,  which  as  yet  hampers  him 
much.  He  evidently  likes  me  well,  as  do  all  his  household,  and  will 
be  a  considerable  pleasure  to  me.  I  was  dining  there  this  day  week. 
I  saw  various  notable  persons — Radical  members,  and  such  like; 
among  whom  a  young,  very  rich  man,  named  Sir  William  Moles- 
worth,  pleased  me  considerably.  We  have  met  since,  and  shall  prob- 
ably see  much  more  of  one  another.  He  seems  very  honest :  needs, 
or  will  need,  guidance  much,  and  with  it  may  do  not  a  little  good. 

" I  like  the  frank  manners  of  the  young  man;  so  beautiful  in  con- 
trast with  Scottish  gigmanity.  I  pitied  his  darkness  of  mind,  and 
heartily  wished  him  well.  He  is,  among  other  things,  a  vehement 
smoker  of  tobacco.  This  Molesworth  is  one  of  the  main  men  that 
are  to  support  that  Radical  Review  of  theirs,  with  which  it  seems 
likely  that  I  may  rather  heartily  connect  myself,  if  it  take  a  form 
I  can  do  with.  The  rest  of  the  reviews  arc  sick  and  lean,  ready  for 
nothing,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  but  a  gentle  death.  I  also  mean  to 
write  a  new  book;  and  in  a  serious  enough  style,  you  may  depend 
upon  it.  By  the  time  we  have  got  the  flitting  rightly  over,  I  shall 

i  "  No  poison  in  the  Radicals.  If  little  apprehension  of  positive  truth,  no  hypocrisy; 
DO  wilful  taking  up  with  falsehood." 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  253 

have  settled  what  and  how  it  is  to  be.  Either  on  the  French  Revo- 
lution, or  on  John  Knox  and  our  Scottish  Kirk. 

"By  dint  of  incessant  industry  I  again  got  to  see  Edward  Irving; 
and  on  Saturday  last  spent  two  hours  with  him.  He  seemed  to 
have  wonderfully  recovered  his  health,  and  I  trust  will  not  perish 
in  these  delusions  of  his.  He  is  still  a  good  man,  yet  wofully  given 
over  to  his  idols,  and  enveloped  for  the  present,  and  nigh  choked,  in 
the  despicablest  coil  of  cobwebs  ever  man  sate  hi  the  midst  of. 

' '  Mrs.  Strachey  I  have  seen  some  three  times,  but  not  in  very  ad- 
vantageous circumstances.  She  is  the  same  true  woman  she  ever 
was,  indignant  at  the  oppressing  of  the  poor,  at  the  wrong  and  false- 
hood with  which  the  earth  is  filled;  yet  rather  gently  withdrawn 
from  it,  and  hoping  in  what  is  beyond  it,  than  actively  at  war 
with  it." 

Carlyle  was  not  long  left  alone.  Mrs.  Carlyle  arrived — she  came 
by  Annan  steamer  and  the  coach  from  Liverpool  at  the  beginning 
of  June;  old  Mrs.  Carlyle,  standing  with  a  crowd  on  the  Annan  pier, 
waving  her  handkerchief  as  the  vessel  moved  away.  Carlyle,  as  he 
returned  from  his  walk  to  his  lodgings  in  Ampton  Street,  was  re- 
ceived by  the  chirping  of  little  Chico,  the  canary-bird;  his  wife  rest- 
ing, after  her  journey,  in  bed.  They  had  been  fortunate  in  securing 
a  remarkable  woman,  who  was  more  a  friend  and  a  companion  than 
a  servant,  to  help  them  through  their  first  difficulties — Bessy  Barnet, 
the  daughter  of  Mr.  Badams's  housekeeper  at  Birmingham,  whom 
Carlyle  had  known  there  as  a  child.  Badatns  was  now  dead,  and 
this  Bessy,  who  had  remained  with  him  to  the  last,  now  attached 
herself  to  Carlyle  for  the  sake  of  her  late  master.  The  Chelsea 
house  was  seen  by  Mrs.  Carlyle,  and,  after  some  hesitation,  was 
approved;  and  three  days  after  they  had  taken  possession  of  their 
future  home,  and  Pickford's  vans  were  at  the  door  unloading  the 
furniture  from  Craigenputtock. 

Thirty-four  years  later  Carlyle  wrote  : 

"Tuesday,  10th  of  June,  1834,  was  the  day  of  our  alighting,  amidst 
heaped  furniture,  in  this  house,  where  we  were  to  continue  for  life. 
I  well  remember  bits  of  the  drive  from  Ampton  Street :  what  damp- 
clouded  kind  of  sky  it  was ;  how  in  crossing  Belgrave  Square  Chico, 
whom  site  had  brought  from  Craigenputtock  in  her  lap,  burst  out 
into  singing,  which  we  all  (Bessy  Barnet,  our  romantic  maid,  sate 
with  us  in  the  old  hackney-coach)  strove  to  accept  as  a  promising 
omen.  The  business  of  sorting  and  settling  with  two  or  three  good 
carpenters,  already  on  the  ground,  was  at  once  gone  into  with  bound- 
less alacrity,1  and  under  such  management  as  hers  went  on  at  a 

i  Carlyle's  memory  was  perfectly  accurate  in  what  it  retained.  His  account  to  his 
brother  at  the  time  gives  fuller  detail  to  the  picture :  "  A  hackney-coach,  loaded  to  the 
roof  and  beyond  it  with  luggage  and  the  passengers,  tumbled  us  all  down  here  at  eleven 
in  the  morning.  By  all  I  mean  my  dame  and  myself,  Bessy  Barnet,  who  had  come  the 
night  before,  and  little  Chico,  the  canary-bird,  who,  multum  jactalus,  did  nevertheless 
arrive  living  and  well  from  Puttock,  and  even  sang  violently  all  the  way,  by  sea  and 


254  LIFE  OF  THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

mighty  rate:  even  the  three  or  four  days  of  quasi  camp  life,  or  gypsy 
life,  had  a  kind  of  gay  charm  to  us;  and  hour  by  hour  we  saw  the 
confusion  abating — growing  into  victorious  order.  Leigh  Hunt  was 
continually  sending  us  notes;  most  probably  would  in  person  step 
across  before  bedtime,  and  give  us  an  hour  of  the  prettiest  melodious 
discourse.  In  about  a  week,  it  seems  to  me,  all  was  swept  and  gar- 
nished, fairly  habitable,  and  continued  incessantly  to  get  itself  pol- 
ished, civilized,  and  beautiful  to  a  degree  that  surprised  me.  I  have 
elsewhere  alluded  to  all  that,  and  to  my  little  Jeannie's  conduct  of  it. 
Heroic,  lovely,  mournfully  beautiful  as  in  the  light  of  eternity  that 
little  scene  of  time  now  looks  to  me.  From  birth  upwards  she  had 
lived  in  opulence,  and  now  for  my  sake  had  become  poor — so  nobly 
poor.  No  such  house  for  beautiful  thrift,  quiet,  spontaneous — nay, 
as  it  were,  unconscious  minimum  of  money  reconciled  to  human 
comfort  and  dignity,  have  I  anywhere  looked  upon  where  I  have 
been." 

The  auspices  under  which  the  new  life  began,  not  from  Chico's 
song  only,  were  altogether  favorable.  The  weather  was  fine;  the 
cherries  were  ripening  on  a  tree  in  the  garden.  Carlyle  got  his  gar- 
den tools  to  work  and  repaired  the  borders,  and  set  in  slips  of  jessa- 
mine and  gooseberry  bushes  brought  from  Scotland.  To  his  mother, 
who  was  curious  about  the  minutest  details,  he  reported: 

"We  lie  safe  at  a  bend  of  the  river,  away  from  all  the  great  roads, 
have  air  and  quiet  hardly  inferior  to  Craigenputtock,  an  outlook 
from  the  back-windows  into  mere  leafy  regions  with  here  and  there 
a  red  high-peaked  old  roof  looking  through ;  and  see  nothing  of  Lon- 
don, except  by  day  the  summits  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  and  West- 
minster Abbey,  and  by  night  the  gleam  of  the  great  Babylon  affront- 
ing the  peaceful  skies.  The  house  itself  is  probably  the  best  we 
have  ever  lived  in — a  right  old,  strong,  roomy  brick  house,  built 
nearly  150  years  ago,  and  likely  to  see  three  races  of  these  modern 
fashionables  fall  before  it  comes  down." 

The  French  Revolution  had  been  finally  decided  on  as  the  subject 
for  the  next  book,  and  was  to  be  set  about  immediately;  Fraser  hav- 
ing offered,  not  indeed  to  give  money  for  it,  but  to  do  what  neither 
he  nor  any  other  publisher  would  venture  for  "Sartor" — take  the 
risk  of  printing  it.  Mill  furnished  volumes  on  the  subject  in  "bar- 
rowf uls. "  Leigh  Hunt  was  a  pleasant  immediate  neighbor,  and  an 
increasing  circle  of  Radical  notabilities  began  to  court  Carlyle's 
society.  There  was  money  enough  to  last  for  a  year  at  least.  In  a 
year  he  hoped  that  his  book  might  be  finished;  that  he  might  then 
give  lectures;  that  either  then  or  before  some  editorship  might  fall 
to  him — the  editorship,  perhaps  (for  it  is  evident  that  he  hoped  for  it), 

land— nay,  struck  up  his  lilt  in  the  very  London  streets  whenever  he  could  see  green 
leaves  and  feel  the  free  air.  There  we  sate  on  three  trunks.  I,  however,  with  a  match- 
box soon  lit  a  cigar,  as  Bessy  did  a  flre;  and  thus  with  a  kind  of  cheerful  solemnity  we 
took  possession  by  "raising  reek,"  and  even  dined  in  an  extempore  fashion  on  a  box- 
lid  covered  with  some  accidental  towel."  (To  John  Carlyle,  June  17, 1834.) 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  255 

of  Mill  and  Molesworth's  new  Radical  Review.  Thus  at  the  outset 
he  was — for  him — tolerably  cheerful.  On  the  27th  of  June  he  sent 
a  full  account  of  things  to  Scotsbrig. 

To  Alexander  Carlyle. 

"  5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea:  June  27, 1834. 

' '  The  process  of  installation  is  all  but  terminated,  and  we,  in  rather 
good  health  and  spirits,  and  all  doing  well,  are  beginning  to  feel  our- 
selves at  home  in  our  new  hadding.  We  have  nothing  to  complain 
of,  much  to  be  piously  grateful  for;  and  thus,  with  a  kind  of  serious 
cheerfulness,  may  gird  ourselves  up  for  a  new  career.  As  it  was  en- 
tered on  without  dishonest  purposes,  the  issue,  unless  we  change  for 
the  worse,  is  not  to  be  dreaded,  prove  as  it  may. 

"One  of  the  greatest  moments  of  niy  life,  I  think,  was  when  I 
waved  my  hat  to  you  and  Jamie  from  on  board  the  steamboat.  My 
two  brothers,  the  last  of  my  kindred  I  had  to  leave,  stood  there,  and 
I  stood  liere,  already  flying  fast  from  them.  I  would  not  desecrate 
so  solemn  an  hour  by  childish  weakness.  I  turned  my  thoughts 
heavenward,  for  it  is  in  heaven  only  that  I  find  any  basis  for  our 
poor  pilgrimage  on  this  earth.  Courage,  my  brave  brothers  all ! 
Let  us  be  found  faithful  and  we  shall  not  fail.  Surely  as  the  blue 
dome  of  heaven  encircles  us  all,  so  does  the  providence  of  the  Lord 
of  Heaven.  He  will  withhold  no  good  thing  from  those  that  love 
Him!  This,  as  it  was  the  ancient  Psalmist's  faith,  let  it  likewise  be 
ours.  It  is  the  Alpha  and  Omega,  I  reckon,  of  all  possessions  that 
can  belong  to  man. 

"Neither  my  mother  nor  you  will  interpret  these  reflections  of 
mine  as  if  they  betokened  gloom  of  temper — but,  indeed,  rather  the 
reverse.  I  hope  we  have  left  great  quantities  of  gloom  safe  behind 
us  at  Puttock,  and  indeed  hitherto  have  given  little  harbor  to  such  a 
guest  here.  It  is  strange  often  to  myself,  with  what  a  kind  of  not 
only  fearlessness,  but  meek  contempt  and  indifference,  I  can  walk 
through  the  grinding  press  of  these  restless  millions,  'listening,'  as 
Teufelsdrockh  says,  'to  its  loudest  threatenings  with  a  still  smile.' 
I  mean  to  work  according  to  my  strength.  As  to  riches,  fame,  suc- 
cess, and  so  forth,  I  ask  no  questions.  Were  the  work  laid  out  for 
us  but  the  kneading  of  a  clay  brick,  let  us,  in  God's  name,  do  it  faith- 
fully, and  look  for  our  reward  elsewhere.  So,  on  the  whole,  to  end 
moralizing,  let  us  sing — 

'  Come,  fingers  five,  come  now  be  live, 
And  stout  heart  fail  me  not,  not — ' 

or,  what  is  far  before  singing,  let  us  do  it,  and  go  on  doing  it. 

"  In  respect  of  society, we  have  what  perfectly  sufBces — having  in- 
deed here  the  best  chance.  Mill  comes  sometimes;  the  Bullers  were 
all  here,  paying  us  their  first  visit,  Mrs.  Austin,  etc.  There  is  really 
enough,  and  might  easily  be  to  spare.  Things  go  in  the  strangest 
course  in  that  respect  here.  A  man  becomes  for  some  reason,  or  for 
no  reason,  in  some  way  or  other  notable.  Straightway  his  door  from 
dawn  to  dusk  is  beset  with  idlers  and  loungers,  and  empty  persons 
on  foot  and  in  carriages,  who  come  to  gather  of  his  supposed  fulness 
one  five  minutes  of  tolerable  sensation ;  and  so  the  poor  man  (most 


256  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

frequently  it  is  a  poor  woman)  sits  in  studied  attitude  all  day,  '  doing 
what  he  can  dp,'  which  is,  alas!  all  too  little;  for  gradually  or  sud- 
denly the  carriage  and  foot  empty  persons  start  some  other  scent 
and  crowd  elsewhither;  and  so  the  poor  notable  man,  now  fallen 
into  midnight  obscurity,  sits  in  his  studied  attitude  within  forsaken 
walls,  either  to  rise  and  set  about  some  work  (which  were  the  best), 
or  mournfully  chant  Icliabod!  according  to  his  convenience. 

"  On  the  whole,  as  I  often  say,  what  is  society?  What  is  the  help  of 
others  in  any  shape?  None  but  thyself  can  effectually  help  thee,  can 
effectually  hinder  thee  !  A  man  must  have  lived  to  little  purpose 
six  years  in  the  wilderness  of  Puttock  if  he  have  not  made  this  clear 
to  himself. 

"Hunt  and  the  Hunts,  as  you  have  heard,  live  only  in  the  next 
street  from  us.  Hunt  is  always  ready  to  go  and  walk  with  me,  or 
sit  and  talk  with  me  to  all  lengths  if  I  want  him.  He  comes  in  once 
a  week  (when  invited,  for  he  is  very  modest),  takes  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
sits  discoursing  in  his  brisk,  fanciful  way  till  supper-time,  and  then 
cheerfully  eats  a  cup  of  porridge  (to  sugar  only),  which  he  praises  to 
the  skies,  and  vows  he  will  make  his  supper  of  at  home.  He  is  a 
man  of  thoroughly  London  make,  such  as  you  could  not  find  else- 
where, and  I  think  about  the  best  possible  to  be  made  of  his  sort :  an 
airy,  crotchety,  most  copious  clever  talker,  with  an  honest  undercur- 
rent of  reason  too,  but  unfortunately  not  the  deepest,  not  the  most 
practical — or  rather  it  is  the  most  unpractical  ever  man  dealt  in. 
His  hair  is  grizzled,  eyes  black-hazel,  complexion  of  the  clearest 
dusky-brown;  a  thin  glimmer  of  a  smile  plays  over  a  face  of  cast- 
iron  gravity.  He  never  laughs — can  only  titter,  which  I  thiuk  in- 
dicates his  worst  deficiency.  His  house  excels  all  you  have  ever 
read  of — a  poetical  Tinkerdom,  without  parallel  even  in  literature. 
In  his  family  room,  where  are  a  sickly  large  wife  and  a  whole  shoal 
of  well-conditioned  wild  children,  you  will  find  half-a-dozen  old 
rickety  chairs  gathered  from  half-a-dozen  different  hucksters,  and  all 
seemingly  engaged,  and  just  pausing,  in  a  violent  hornpipe.  On 
these  and  around  them,  and  over  the  dusty  table  and  ragged  carpet, 
lie  all  kinds  of  litter — books,  papers,  egg-shells,  scissors,  and  last 
night  when  I  was  there  the  torn  heart  of  a  half -quartern  loaf.  His 
own  room  above-stairs,  into  which  alone  I  strive  to  enter,  he  keeps 
cleaner.  It  has  only  two  chairs,  a  bookcase,  and  a  writing-table;  yet 
the  noble  Hunt  receives  you  in  his  Tinkerdom  in  the  spirit  of  a  king, 
apologizes  for  nothing,  places  you  in  the  best  seat,  takes  a  window- 
sill  himself  if  there  is  no  other,  and  there  folding  closer  his  loose- 
flowing  '  muslin-cloud '  of  a  printed  nightgown  in  which  he  always 
writes,  commences  the  liveliest  dialogue  on  philosophy  and  the  pros- 
pects of  man  (who  is  to  be  beyond  measure  'happy'  yet);  which 
again  he  will  courteously  terminate  the  moment  you  are  bound  to 
go :  a  most  interesting,  pitiable,  lovable  man,  to  be  used  kindly  but 
with  discretion.  After  all,  it  is  perhaps  rather  a  comfort  to  be 
near  honest,  friendly  people — at  least  an  honest,  friendly  man  of 
that  sort.  We  stand  sharp  but  mannerly  for  his  sake  and  for  ours, 
and  endeavor  to  get  and  do  what  good  we  can,  and  avoid  the 
evil." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  257 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"5  Cheyne  Row:  July  22, 1834. 

"  We  are  getting  along  here  as  we  can  without  cause  of  complaint. 
Our  house  and  whole  household,  inanimate  and  rational,  continue  to 
yield  all  contentment.  Bessy  is  a  clever,  clear-minded  girl;  lives 
quietly  not  only  as  a  servant,  but  can  cheer  her  mistress  as  a  com- 
panion and  friend.  Most  favorable  change.  Jane  keeps  in  decided- 
ly better  health  and  spirits.  Within-doors  I  have  all  manner  of 
scope.  Out-of-doors,  unhappily,  the  prospect  is  vague  enough,  yet 
I  myself  am  not  without  fixed  aim.  The  bookselling  world,  I  seem 
to  see,  is  all  but  a  hopeless  one  for  me.  Periodical-editors  will  em- 
ploy me,  as  they  have  employed  me,  on  this  principle:  for  the  sake 
of  my  name,  and  to  help  them  to  season  a  new  enterprise.  That 
once  accomplished,  they  want  little  more  to  do  with  me.  Amateurs 
enough  exist  that  will  dirty  paper  gratis,  and  puffery,  and  so  forth, 
is  expected  to  do  the  rest.  Thus  they  kept  a  gusting  bone  in  the  four 
towns,  and  lent  it  out  to  give  a  flavor  to  weak  soup ;  otherwise  hung 
it  in  the  nook.  I  am  much  dissatisfied  with  the  arrangement  and 
little  minded  to  continue  it.  Meanwhile,  by  Heaven's  blessing,  I 
find  I  can  get  a  book  printed  with  my  name  on  it.  I  have  fixed  on 
my  book,  and  am  laboring  (ohne  Hast,  ohne  Host)  as  yet  afar  off  to 
get  it  ready.  Did  I  not  tell  you  the  subject?  The  French  Revolu- 
tion. I  mean  to  make  an  artistic  picture  of  it.  Alas!  the  subject  is 
high  and  huge.  Ich zittre  nur,  ich  stottre  nur,  und  kann  es  doch  nicht 
laasen.  Mill  has  lent  me  above  a  hundred  books;  I  read  continu- 
ally, s.nd  the  matter  is  dimly  shaping  itself  in  me.  Much  is  in  the 
Museum  for  me,  too,  in  the  shape  of  books  and  pamphlets.  I  was 
there  a  week  ago  seeking  pictures:  found  none;  but  got  a  sight  of 
Albert  Dilrer,  and  (I  find)  some  shadow  of  his  old — teutechen,  deep, 
still  soul,  which  was  well  worth  the  getting.  This  being  my  task 
till  the  end  of  the  year,  why  should  1  curiously  inquire  what  is  to 
become  of  me  next?  'There  is  aye  life  for  a  living  body,'  as  my 
mother's  proverb  has  it ;  also,  as  she  reminded  me,  '  if  thou  tine  heart, 
thou  tines  a'.'  I  will  do  my  best  and  calmest;  then  wait  and  ask. 
As  yet,  I  find  myself  much  cut  off  from  practical  companions  and 
instructors ;  my  visitors  and  collocutors  are  all  of  the  theoretic  sort, 
and  worth  comparatively  little  to  me,  but  I  shall  gradually  approach 
the  other  sort,  and  try  to  profit  by  them.  With  able  editors  I  figure 
my  course  as  terminated.  Fraser  cannot  afford  to  pay  me,  besides 
seems  more  and  more  bent  on  Toryism  and  Irish  reporterism,  to  me 
infinitely  detestable. 

"With  regard  to  neighborhood,!  might  say  we  were  very  quiet,  even 
solitary,  yet  not  oppressively  so.  Of  visitors  that  merely  call  here 
we  have  absolutely  none  ;  our  day  is  our  own,  and  those  that  do 
come  are  worth  something  to  us.  Our  most  interesting  new  friend 
is  a  Mrs.  Taylor,  who  came  here  for  the  first  time  yesterday,  and 
stayed  long.  She  is  a  living  romance  heroine,  of  the  clearest  insight, 
of  the  royallest  volition,  very  interesting,  of  questionable  destiny,  not 
above  twenty-five.  Jane  is  to  go  and  pass  a  day  with  her  soon, 
being  greatly  taken  with  her.  Allan  Cunningham, with  his  wife  and 
daughter,  made  us  out  last  night.  We  are  to  dine  there  some  day. 


258  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Hunt  is  always  at  hand;  but,  as  the  modestest  of  men,  never  comes 
unless  sent  for.  His  theory  of  life  and  mine  have  already  declared 
themselves  to  be  from  top  to  bottom  at  variance,  which  shocks  him 
considerably ;  to  me  his  talk  is  occasionally  pleasant,  is  always  clear  and 
lively,  but  all  too  foisonless,  baseless,  and  shallow.  He  has  a  theory 
that  the  world  is,  or  should,  and  shall  be,  a  gingerbread  Lubberland, 
where  evil  (that  is,  pain)  shall  never  come :  a  theory  in  very  consid- 
erable favor  here,  which  to  me  is  pleasant  as  streams  of  unambrosial 
dish-water— a  thing  -I  simply  shut  my  mouth  against,  as  the  shortest 
way.  Irving  I  have  not  succeeded  in  seeing  again,  though  I  went 
up  to  Bayswater  once  and  left  my  name.  I  rather  think  his  wife 
will  incline  to  secrete  him  from  me,  and  may  even  have  been  ca- 
pable of  suppressing  my  card.  I  will  try  again,  for  his  sake  and 
my  own.  Mill  is,  on  the  whole,  our  best  figure,  yet  all  too  narrow  in 
shape,  though  of  wide  susceptibilities  and  very  fond  of  us.  He 
hunts  me  out  old  books,  does  all  he  can  for  me ;  he  is  busy  about  the 
new  Radical  Review,  and  doubtless  will  need  me  there,  at  least  as 
'  gusting  bone.'  Ought  he  to  get  me  ?  Not  altogether  for  the  ask- 
ing, perhaps,  for  I  am  wearied  of  that.  Voyons.  Thus,  dear  brother, 
have  you  a  most  full  and  artless  picture  of  our  existence  here.  You 
do  not  despair  of  us;  your  sympathies  are  blended  with  hopes  for 
us.  You  will  make  out  of  all  this  food  enough  for  musing.  Muse 
plentifully  about  us :  to  me,  also,  you  continue  precious.  With  you 
I  am  double  strong.  God  be  with  you,  dear  Jack !  Jane  stipulated 
for  a  paragraph,  so  I  stop  here." 

P.S.  by  Mrs.  Carlyle: 

"  Again  only  a  postscript,  my  dear  John,  but  I  will  write  one  time 
or  other.  I  will :  as  yet  I  am  too  unsettled.  In  trying  to  write  or 
read,  above  all  things,  I  feel  I  am  in  a  new  position.  When  I  look 
round  on  my  floors  once  more  laid  with  carpets,  my  chairs  all  in  a 
row,  etc.,  I  flatter  myself  the  tumult  is  subsided.  But  when  I  look 
within — alas!  I  find  my  wits  by  no  means  in  a  row,  but  still  engaged 
at  an  uproarious  game  of  '  Change  seats,  the  king's  coming.'  I  read 
dozens  of  pages,  and  find  at  the  end  that  I  have  not  the  slightest 
knowledge  what  they  were  about.  I  take  out  a  note-book  day  after 
day  and  write  the  day  of  the  week  and  mouth,  and  so  return  it. 
Pity  the  poor  white  woman.  She  will  find  herself  by-and-by,  and 
communicate  the  news  to  you  among  the  first;  for  I  am  sure  you 
care  for  her,  and  would  rejoice  in  her  attainment  of  a  calm,  well- 
ordered  being  for  her  own  sake.  At  all  rates,  we  are  well  out  of 
Puttock  everywhere." 

These  first  letters  from  London  would  seem  to  indicate  that  Carlyle 
was  tolerably  "hefted"  to  his  new  home  and  condition;  but  the 
desponding  mood  was  never  long  absent.  Happy  those  to  whom 
nature  has  given  good  animal  spirits.  There  is  no  fairy  gift  equal 
to  this  for  helping  a  man  to  fight  his  way,  and  animal  spirits  Car- 
lyle never  had.  He  had  the  keenest  sense  of  the  ridiculous;  but 
humor  and  sadness  are  inseparable  properties  of  the  same  nature; 
his  constitutional  unhopefulness  soon  returned  upon  him,  and  was 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  259 

taking  deeper  hold  than  he  cared  to  let  others  see.  The  good  ef- 
fects of  this  change  wore  off  in  a  few  weeks:  the  old  enemy  was  in 
possession  again,  and  the  entries  in  his  diary  were  more  desponding 
than  even  at  Craigenputtock. 

"  Saturday  night  (#>.tn*c-t),  July  26,  1834. — Have  written  nothing 
here  for  above  a  month ;  my  state  has  been  one  of  those  it  was  al- 
most frightful  to  speak  of:  an  undetermined,  unspeakable  state. 
Little  better  yet;  but  the  book  being  open,  I  will  put  down  a  word. 

"Nothing  can  exceed  the  (/rarity  of  my  situation  here.  'Do  or 
die'  seems  the  word;  and,  alas!  what  to  dp?  1  have  no  practical 
friend,  no  confidant,  properly  no  companion.  For  five  days  to- 

f ether  I  sit  without  so  much  as  speaking  to  any  one  except  my  wife, 
lood  tragical,  gloomy,  as  of  one  forsaken,  who  had  nothing  left  him 
but  to  get  thrvityh  hi*  'task  and  die.  No  periodical-editor  wants  me: 
no  man  will  give  me  money  for  my  Avork.  Bad  health,  too  (at  least, 
singularly  changed  health),  brings  all  manner  of  dispiritment.  Des- 
picablest  fears  of  coming  to  absolute  beggary,  etc. ,  etc. ,  besiege  me. 
On  brighter  days  I  cast  these  off  into  the  dim  distance,  and  see  a 
world  fearful,  indeed,  but  grand:  a  task  to  do  in  it  which  no  poverty 
or  beggary  shall  hinder. 

"  Can  friends  do  much  for  one?  Conversing  here,  I  find  that  I 
get  almost  nothing;  the  utmost,  and  that  rarely,  is  honest,  clear  re- 
ception of  what  I  give.  Surely  I  go  wrong  to  work.  I  question 
everybody  too,  but  none,  or  almost  none,  can  answer  me  on  any  sub- 
ject. Hunt  is  limited,  even  bigoted,  and,  seeing  that  I  utterly  dis- 
sent from  him,  fears  that  I  despise  him;  a  kindly  clever  man,  fan- 
tastic, brilliant,  shallow,  of  one  topic,  loquacious,  unproductive. 
Mrs.  A.  (alas!)  a  '  Niagara  of  gossip; '  in  certain  of  my  humors  fear- 
ful !  Mill  is  the  best;  unhappily  he  is  speculative  merely;  can  open 
out  for  me  no  practical  road,  nor  even  direct  me  where  I  may 
search  after  such.  The  Unitarian-philosophic  fraternity  (likely  to 
open  through  Mrs.  Taylor)  also  bodes  little.  Alone!  alone!  'May 
we  say  '  (my  good  father  used  to  pray) — '  may  we  say  we  are  not 
alone.'for  the  Lord  is  with  us.'  True!  true!  Keep  thy  heart  reso- 
lute and  still;  look  prudently  out,  take  diligent  advantage  of  what 
time  and  chance  will  offer  (to  thee  as  to  all);  toil  along  and  fear 
nothing.  O  thou  of  little  faith!  Weak  of  faith  indeed  !  God 
help  me  ! 

"  For  about  a  month  past,  finding  that  no  editor  had  need  of  me, 
that  it  would  be  imprudent  to  ask  him  to  have  need  of  me,  and, 
moreover,  that  booksellers  now  would  print  books  for  nothing,  I 
have  again  been  resolute  about  the  writing  of  a  book,  and  even  work- 
ing in  the  direction  of  one.  Subject,  'the  French  Revolution.' 
Whole  boxes  of  books  about  me.  Gloomy,  huge,  of  almost  bound- 
less meaning;  but  obscure,  dubious — all  too  deep  for  me;  will  and 
must  do  my  best.  Alas !  gleams,  too,  of  a  work  of  art  hover  past 
me ;  as  if  this  should  be  a  work  of  art.  Poor  me  1 

"  In  the  midst  of  innumerable  discouragements,  all  men  indiffer- 
ent or  finding  fault,  let  me  mention  two  small  circumstances  that 
are  comfortable.  The  first  is  a  letter  from  some  nameless  Irishman 
in  Cork  to  another  here  (Fraser  read  it  to  me  without  names),  actu- 


260  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

ally  containing  a  true  and  one  of  the  friendliest  possible  recognitions 
of  me.  One  mortal,  then,  says  I  am  not  utterly  wrong.  Blessings 
on  him  for  it!  The  second  is  a  letter  I  got  to-day  from  Emerson, 
of  Boston  in  America;  sincere,  not  baseless,  of  most  exaggerated 
estimation.  Precious  is  man  to  man. 

"It  was  long  ago  written,  '  Woe  to  them  that  are  at  ease  in  Zion.' 
Such  woe  at  least  is  not  thine ! 

"  '  Tout  va  Hen  ici,  le pain  manque.'  " 

"August  12. — Good  news  out  of  Annandale  that  they  are  all  well; 
the  like  from  Jack.  I  still  lonely,  how  lonely  !  Health, and  with  it 
spirits  fluctuating,  feeble,  usually  bad.  At  times  nothing  can  ex- 
ceed my  gloom.  Foolish  weakling!  However,  so  it  is;  light  alter- 
nates with  darkness ;  sorrow  itself  must  be  followed  by  cessation  of 
sorrow — which  is  joy.  As  yet  no  prospect  whatever.  Mill,  I  dis- 
cern, has  given  Fox  the  editorship  of  that  new  Molesworth  periodi- 
cal ;  seems  rather  ashamed  of  it — d  la  bonne  heure;  is  it  not  probably 
better  so?  Trust  in  God  and  in  thyself!  Oh,  could  I  but !  all  else 
were  so  light,  so  trivial !  Enough  now." 

"August  13. — Weary,  dispirited,  sick,  forsaken,  every  way  heavy- 
laden  !  cannot  tell  what  is  to  become  of  that  '  French  Revolution ; ' 
vague,  boundless,  without  form  and  void — Gott  hilf  mir  ! 

"The  idea  of  not  very  distant  death  often  presents  itself  to  me, 
without  satisfaction,  yet  without  much  terror,  much  aversion — ein 
verfehltes  Leben?  Poor  coward!  At  lowest  I  say  nothing;  what  I 
suffer  is,  as  much  as  may  be,  locked  up  within  myself.  A  long  lane 
that  has  no  turning  ?  Despair  not. " 

How  to  keep  living  was  the  problem.  The  "French  Revolu- 
tion," Carlyle  thought  at  this  time,  must  be  a  mere  sketch;  finished 
and  sold  by  the  following  spring  if  he  was  to  escape  entire  bank- 
ruptcy. He  had  hoped  more  than  he  knew  for  the  editorship  of 
the  new  Review.  It  had  been  given  to  Fox,  "  as  the  safer  man." 

"  I  can  already  picture  to  myself  the  Radical  periodical  [he  wrote 
to  his  brother  John],  and  can  even  prophesy  its  destiny.  With  my- 
self it  had  not  been  so;  [but]  the  only  thing  certain  would  have 
been  difficulty,  pain,  and  contradiction,  which  I  should  probably 
have  undertaken;  which  I  am  far  from  breaking  my  heart  that  I 
have  missed.  Mill  likes  me  well,  and  on  his  embarrassed  face, 
when  Fox  happened  to  be  talked  of,  I  read  both  that  editorship 
business,  and  also  that  Mill  had  known  my  want  of  it,  which  latter 
was  all  I  desired  to  read.  As  you  well  say,  disappointment  on  dis- 
appointment only  simplifies  one's  course;  your  possibilities  become 
diminished;  your  choice  is  rendered  easier.  In  general.  I  abate  no 
jot  of  confidence  in  myself  and  in  my  cause.  Nay,  it  often  seems 
to  me  as  if  the  extremity  of  suffering,  if  such  were  appointed  me, 
might  bring  out  an  extremity  of  energy  as  yet  unknown  to  myself. 
God  grant  me  faith,  clearness,  and  peaceableness  of  heart.  I  make 
no  other  prayer." 

No  doubt  it  was  hard  to  bear.  By  Mill,  if  by  no  one  else, 
Carlyle  thought  that  he  was  recognized  and  appreciated;  and 


LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  261 

Mill  had  preferred  Fox  to  him.  The  Rcvieio  fared  as  Carlyle 
expected:  lived  its  short  day  as  long  as  Molesworth's  money 
held  out,  and  then  withered.  Perhaps,  as  he  said,  "With  him 
it  had  not  been  so."  Yet  no  one  who  knows  how  such  things 
are  managed  could  blame  Mill.  To  the  bookselling  world  Car- 
lyle's  name,  since  the  appearance  of  "Sartor  Resartus"  in  Fraser, 
had  become  an  abomination,  and  so  far  was  Mill  from  really  al- 
tering his  own  estimate  of  Carlyle  that  he  offered  to  publish  the 
"Diamond  Necklace"  as  a  book  at  his  own  expense,  "that  he 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  reviewing  it !"  Carlyle  at  bottom  under- 
stood that  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise,  and  that  essentially  it 
was  better  for  him  as  it  was.  Through  his  own  thrift  and  his  wife's 
skill,  the  extremity  of  poverty  never  really  came,  and  his  time  and 
faculties  were  left  unincumbered  for  his  own  work.  Even  of  Fox 
himself,  whom  he  met  at  a  dinner-party,  he  could  speak  kindly ;  not 
unappreciatively.  The  cloud  lifted  now  and  then,  oftener,  probably, 
than  his  diary  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  Carlyle's  sense  of  the 
ridiculous — stronger  than  that  of  any  contemporary  man — was  the 
complement  to  his  dejection.  In  his  better  moments  he  could  see 
and  enjoy  the  brighter  side  of  his  position.  On  the  15th  of  August, 
two  days  after  he  had  been  meditating  on  his  verfehltes  Leben,  he 
could  write  to  his  brother  in  a  happier  tone. 

To  John  Carlyle,  Naples. 

"  5  Cheyne  Row :  August  15. 

"All  of  us  have  tolerable  health,  Jane  generally  better  than  be- 
fore ;  I  certainly  not  worse,  and  now  more  in  the  ancient  accus- 
tomed fashion.  I  am  diligent  with  the  shower-bath;  my  pilgrim- 
ages to  the  Museum  and  on  other  town  errands  keep  me  in  walking 
enough;  once  or  twice  weekly  on  an  evening  Jane  and  I  stroll  out 
along  the  bank  of  the  river  or  about  the  College,  and  see  white- 
shirted  Cockneys  in  their  green  canoes,  or  old  pensioners  pensively 
smoking  tobacco.  The  London  street  tumult  has  become  a  kind  of 
marching  music  to  me ;  I  walk  along  following  my  own  meditations 
without  thinking  of  it.  Company  comes  in  desirable  quantity,  not 
deficient,  not  excessive,  and  there  is  talk  enough  from  time  to  time. 
I  myself,  however,  when  I  consider  it,  find  the  whole  all  too  thin, 
unnutritive,  unavailing.  All  London-born  men,  without  exception, 
seem  to  me  narrow-built,  considerably  perverted  men,  rather  frac- 
tions of  a  man.  Hunt,  by  nature  a  very  clever  man,  is  one  instance ; 
Mill,  in  quite  another  manner,  is  another.  These  and  others  con- 
tinue to  come  about  me  as  with  the  cheering  sound  of  temporary 
music,  and  are  right  welcome  so.  A  higher  co-operation  will  per- 
haps somewhere  else  or  some  time  hence  disclose  itself. 

'  There  was  a  piper  had  a  cow, 

And  he  had  nought  to  give  her; 
He  took  his  pipes  and  played  a  spring, 
And  bade  the  cow  consider.' 


262  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

"Allan  Cunningham  was  here  two  nights  ago:  very  friendly, 
full  of  Nithsdale,  a  pleasant  Naturmcnsch.  Mill  gives  me  logical 
developments  of  hoic  men  act  (chiefly  in  politics);  Hunt,  tricksy  de- 
vices and  crotchety  whimsicalities  on  the  same  theme.  What  they 
act  is  a  thing  neither  of  them  much  sympathizes  in,  much  seems  to 
know.  I  sometimes  long  greatly  for  Irving — for  the  old  Irving  of 
fifteen  years  ago;  nay,  the  poor  actual  gift-of -tongues  Irving  has 
seemed  desirable  to  me.  We  dined  with  Mrs.  (Platonica)  Taylor 
and  the  Unitarian  Fox  one  day.  Mill  was  also  of  the  party,  and 
the  husband — an  obtuse,  most  joypus-natured  man,  the  pink  of  so- 
cial hospitality.  Fox  is  a  little  thick-set,  bushy-locked  man  of  five- 
and-foity,  with  bright,  sympathetic,  thoughtful  eyes,  with  a  ten- 
dency to  pot-belly  and  snuffiness.  From  these  hints  you  can  con- 
strue him ;  the  best  Socinian  philosophist  going,  but  not  a  whit  more. 
I  shall  like  well  enough  to  meet  the  man  again,  but  I  doubt  he  will 
not  me.  Mrs.  Taylor  herself  did  not  yield  unmixed  satisfaction,  I 
think,  or  receive  it.  She  affects,  with  a  kind  of  sultana  noble-mind- 
edness, a  certain  girlish  petulance,  and  felt  that  it  did  not  wholly 
prosper.  We  walked  home,  however,  even  Jane  did,  all  the  way 
from  the  Regent's  Park,  and  felt  that  we  had  done  a  duty.  For 
me,  from  the  Socinians  as  I  take  it,  icird  nichts. 

"The  French  Revolution  perplexes  me  much.  More  books  on 
it,  I  find,  are  but  a  repetition  of  those  before  read;  I  learn  nothing, 
or  almost  nothing,  further  by  books,  yet  am  I  as  far  as  possible 
from  understanding  it.  Bedenklichkeiten  of  all  kinds  environ  me. 
To  be  true  or  not  to  be  true:  there  is  the  risk.  And  then  to  be 
popular,  or  not  to  be  popular?  That,  too,  is  a  question  that  plays 
most  completely  with  the  other.  We  shall  see ;  we  shall  try.  Par 
ma,  tete  seule  ! 

"My  good  Jack  has  now  a  clear  view  of  me.  We  may  say,  in  the 
words  of  the  Sansculotte  Deputy  writing  to  the  Convention  of  the 
Progress  of  Right  Principles,  Tout  va  bien  ici,  le  pain  inanque! 
Jane  and  I  often  repeat  this  with  laughter.  But,  in  truth,  we  live 
very  cheap  here  (perhaps  not  much  above  50£.  a  year  dearer  than  at 
Puttock),  and  so  can  hold  out  a  long  while  independent  of  chance. 
Utter  poverty  itself  (if  I  hold  fast  by  the  faith)  has  no  terrors  for  me, 
should  it  ever  come. 

' '  I  told  you  I  had  seen  Irving.  It  was  but  yesterday  in  Newman 
Street,  after  four  prior  ineffectual  attempts.  William  Hamilton, 
who  was  here  on  Saturday,  told  me  Irving  was  grown  worse  again, 
and  Mrs.  Irving  had  been  extremely  ill ;  he,  too,  seemed  to  think 
my  cards  had  been  withheld.  Much  grieved  at  this  news,  I  called 
once  more  on  Monday:  a  new  failure.  Yesterday  I  went  again, 
with  an  insuppressible  indignation  mixed  with  my  pity;  after  some 
shying,  I  was  admitted.  Poor  Irving!  he  lay  there  on  a  sofa,  begged 
my  pardon  for  not  rising;  his  wife,  who  also  did  not,  and  probably 
could  not  well,  rise,  sate  at  his  feet  all  the  time  I  was  there,  miserable 
and  haggard.  Irving  once  lovingly  ordered  her  away ;  but  she  lov- 
ingly excused  herself,  and  sate  still.  He  complains  of  biliousness, 
of  pain  at  his  right  short  rib;  has  a  short,  thick  cough,  which  comes 
on  at  the  smallest  irritation.  Poor  fellow,  I  brought  a  short  gleam 
of  old  Scottish  laughter  into  his  face,  into  his  voice;  and  that,  too, 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  263 

set  him  coughing.  He  said  it  was  the  Lord's  will;  looked  weak, 
dispirited,  partly  embarrassed.  He  continues  toiling  daily,  though 
the  doctor  says  rest  only  can  cure  him.  Is  it  not  mournful,  hyper- 
tragical?  There  are  moments  when  I  determine  on  sweeping  in 
upon  all  tongue  work  and  accursed  choking  cobwebberies,  and 
snatching  away  my  old  best  friend,  to  save  him  from  death  and  the 
grave. " 

So  passed  on  the  first  summer  of  Carlyle's  life  in  London.  "  The 
weather,"  he  says,  "defying  it  in  hard,  almost  brimless  hat,  which 
was  obbligato  in  that  time  of  slavery,  did  sometimes  throw  me  into 
colic."  In  the  British  Museum  lay  concealed  somewhere  "a  collec- 
tion of  French  pamphlets  "  on  the  Revolution,  the  completes!  in  the 
world,  which,  after  six  weeks'  wrestle  with  officiality,  he  was  obliged 
to  find  "  inaccessible  "  to  him.  Idle  obstruction  will  put  the  most  en- 
during of  men  now  and  then  out  of  patience,  and  Carlyle  was  not 
enduring  in  such  matters;  but  his  wife  was  able  on  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember to  send  to  Scotsbrig  a  very  tolerable  picture  of  his  condition. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotebrig. 

"Chelsea:  September  1, 1834. 

"My  dear  Mother, — Could  I  have  supposed  it  possible  that  any 
mortal  was  so  stupid  as  not  to  feel  disappointed  in  receiving  a  letter 
from  me  instead  of  my  husband,  I  should  have  written  to  you  very 
long  ago.  But  while  this  humility  becomes  me,  it  is  also  my  duty 
(too  long  neglected)  to  send  a  little  adjunct  to  my  husband's  letters, 
just  to  assure  you  '  with  my  own  hand '  that  I  continue  to  love  you 
amidst  the  hubbub  of  this  '  noble  city '  *  just  the  same  as  in  the  quiet 
of  Craigenputtock,  and  to  cherish  a  grateful  recollection  of  your 
many  kindnesses  to  me;  especially  of  that  magnanimous  purpose  to 
'  sit  at  my  bedside '  through  the  night  preceding  my  departure,  '  that 
I  might  be  sure  to  sleep.'  I  certainly  shall  never  forget  that  night, 
and  the  several  preceding  and  following:  but  for  the  kindness  and 
helpfulness  shown  me  on  all  hands  I  must  have  traiked,"  one  would 
suppose.  I  had  every  reason  to  be  thankful  then  to  Providence 
and  my  friends,  and  I  have  had  the  same  reason  since. 

"All  things  since  we  came  here  have  gone  more  smoothly  with 
us  than  I  at  all  anticipated.  Our  little  household  has  been  set  up 
again  at  a  quite  moderate  expense  of  money  and  trouble ;  wherein, 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  with  a  cliastened  vanity,  that  the  superior 
shiftiness  and  thriftiuess  of  the  Scotch  character  has  strikingly 
manifested  itself.  The  Englishwomen  turn  up  the  whites  of  their 
ryi-s  and  call  on  the  '  good  heavens '  at  the  bare  idea  of  enterprises 
which  seem  to  me  in  the  most  ordinary  course  of  human  affairs.  I 
told  Mrs.  Hunt  one  day  I  had  been  very  busy  painting.  '  What?' 
she  asked;  '  is  it  a  portrait?  '  Oh  no,  I  told  her,  something  of  more 
importance:  a  large  wardrobe.  She  could  not  imagine,  she  said, 

i  "  Phrase  of  Basil  Montagu's.—  T.  C." 

»  <> 'Treiked '  means  perished  Contemptuous  term,  applied  to  cattle,  etc.  Traik= 
German  Drccfc.—T.  C." 


264  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

'how  I  could  have  patience  for  such  things.'  And  so,  having  no 
patience  for  them  herself,  what  is  the  result?  She  is  every  other 
day  reduced  to  borrow  my  tumblers,  my  teacups;  even  a  cupful  of 
porridge,  a  few  spoonfuls  of  tea,  are  begged  of  me,  because  '  Missus 
has  got  company,  and  happens  to  be  out  of  the  article;'  in  plain, 
unadorned  English,  because  '  missus '  is  the  most  wretched  of  man- 
agers, and  is  often  at  the  point  of  not  having  a  copper  in  her  purse. 
To  see  how  they  live  and  waste  here,  it  is  a  wonder  the  whole  city 
does  not  '  bankrape  '  and  go  out  of  sicht; '  flinging  platefuls  of  what 
they  are  pleased  to  denominate  '  crusts '  (that  is,  what  I  consider  the 
best  of  the  bread)  into  the  ash-pits.  I  often  say,  with  honest  self- 
congratulation,  '  In  Scotland  we  have  no  such  thing  as  crusts.'  On 
the  whole,  though  the  English  ladies  eeem  to  have  their  wits  more 
at  their  finger-ends,  and  have  a  great  advantage  over  me  in  that  re- 
spect, I  never  cease  to  be  glad  that  I  was  born  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Tweed,  and  that  those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  me  are 
Scotch. 

"I  must  tell  you  what  Carlyle  will  not  tell  of  himself,  that  he  is 
rapidly  mending  of  his  Craigenputtock  gloom  and  acerbity.  He  is 
really  at  times  a  tolerably  social  character,  and  seems  to  be  re- 
garded with  a  feeling  of  mingled  terror  and  love  in  all  companies, 
which  I  should  think  the  diffusion  of  '  Teufelsdrockh  '  will  tend  to 
increase. 

"  I  have  just  been  called  away  to  John  Macqueen,  who  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  Jock  Thomson,  of  Annan,  whom  I  received  in  my  choic- 
est mood  to  make  amends  for  Carlyle's  unreadiness,5  who  was  posi- 
tively going  to  let  him  leave  the  door  without  asking  him  in,  a 
neglect  which  he  would  have  reproached  himself  for  after. 

"  My  love  to  all.  Tell  my  kind  Mary  to  write  to  me;  she  is  the 
only  one  that  ever  does. 

"  Your  affectionate  JANE  "W.  CAKLYLE." 

Carlyle's  letter  under  the  same  cover  (franked  by  Sir  John  Rom- 
illy)  communicates  that  the  writing  of  the  "French  Revolution" 
was  actually  begun. 

"  Of  Chelsea  news  we  have  as  good  as  none  to  send  you,  which, 
indeed,  means  intrinsically  good  enough  news.  We  go  on  in  the 
old  fashion,  adhering  pretty  steadily  to  our  work,  and  looking  for 
our  main  happiness  in  that.  This  is  the  dull  season  in  London,  and 
several  of  our  friends  are  fled  to  the  country.  However,  we  have 
still  a  fair  allowance  of  company  left  us ;  and,  what  is  best,  the  com- 
pany we  have  is  none  of  it  bad,  or  merely  'a  consuming  of  time,' 
but  rational  and  leads  to  something,  The  best  news  I  have  is  that 

i  "To  'bankrape'  is  to  'bankrupt'  (used  as  a  verb  passive).  'And  then  he  bank- 
rapit  and  gaed  out  of  sicht.'  A  phrase  of  my  father's  in  the  little  sketches  of  Annan- 
dale  biography  he  would  sometimes  give  me. — T.  C." 

a  "Macqueen  and  Thomson  were  two  big  graziers  of  respectability — Macqueen  a 
native  of  Craigenputtock.  Thomson,  from  near  Annan,  had  been  a  schoolfellow  of 
mine.  They  had  called  here  without  very  specific  errand;  and  I  confess  what  the  letter 
intimates  (of  my  silent  wish  to  have  evaded  such  interruption,  etc.)  is  the  exact  truth. 
— T.  C." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  363 

this  day  (September  1)  I  mean  to  begin  writing  my  book;  nay,  bad 
it  not  been  for  tbe  present  sheet,  would  already  have  been  "at  it! 
Wish  me  good  speed;  I  have  meditated  the  business  as  I  could,  and 
must  surely  strive  to  do  my  best.  With  a  kind  of  trembling  hope,  I 
calculate  that  the  enterprise  may  prosper  with  me;  that  the  book 
may  be  at  least  a  true  one,  and  tend  to  do  God's  service,  not  the 
Devil's.  It  will  keep  me  greatly  on  the  stretch  these  winter  months, 
but  I  hope  to  have  it  printed  and  out  early  in  spring;  what  is  to 
be  done  next,  we  shall  then  see.  The  world  must  be  a  tougher 
article  than  I  have  ever  found  it  if  it  altogether  beats  me.  I  have 
defied  it,  and  set  my  trust  elsewhere,  and  so  it  can  do  whatsoever  is 
permitted  and  appointed  it.  As  to  our  other  doings  and  outlooks, 
I  have  written  of  them  all  at  great  length  to  Alick  the  other  day,  so 
that,  as  you  are  likely  to  see  his  letter,  I  need  not  dwell  on  them 
I  have  seen  Mill  and  various  other  agreeable  persons  since  (for 
our  company  comes  often  in  rushes),  but  met  with  no  further  ad- 
venture." 

The  close  of  the  letter  refers  to  economics,  and  to  the  generous 
contributions  furnished  by  Scotsbrig  to  the  Cheyne  Row  establish- 
ment. 

"The  sheet  is  fading  very  fast;  Jane's  little  note  too  is  ready, 
and  I  have  still  some  business  to  do.  We  spoke  long  ago  about  a 
freight  of  eatable  goods  we  wanted  out  of  Aunandale,  at  the  fall  of 
the  year.  As  you  are  the  punctuallest  of  all,  I  will  now  specify  the 
whole  to  you,  that  you  may  bestir  yourself,  and  stir  up  others  in 
the  proper  quarter  to  be  getting  them  ready.  Here  is  the  list  of  our 
wants,  as  I  have  extracted  it  by  questions  out  of  Jane:  First,  sixty 
pounds  of  butter  in  two  equal  pigs  (the  butter  here  is  16d  a  pound!); 
secondly,  a  moderately  sized  sweet-milk  cheese;  next,  two  smallish 
bacon-hams  (your  beef -ham  was  just  broken  into  last  week,  and  is 
in  the  best  condition);  next,  about  fifteen  stone  of  right  oatmeal  (or 
even  more,  for  we  are  to  give  Hunt  some  stones  of  it,  and  need  al- 
most a  pound  daily:  there  is  not  now  above  a  stone  left);  and,  after 
that,  as  many  hundredweights  of  potatoes  as  you  think  will  keep 
(for  the  rule  of  it  is  this  :  we  take  two  pounds  daily,  and  they 
sell  here  at  three-halfpence,  or  at  lowest  a  penny,  a  pound,  and 
are  seldom  good):  all  this  got  ready  and  packed  into  a  hogshead 
or  two  will  reach  us  by  TV  hitehaven,  and  we  will  see  how  it  an- 
swers." 

John  Carlyle  meanwhile  was  prospering  with  Lady  Clare,  and 
was  in  a  position  to  return  to  his  brother  the  generosity  of  earlier 
days.  It  was  perfectly  true,  as  Carlyle  had  said,  that  what  any  one 
of  the  family  possessed  the  others  were  free  to  share  with  him.  In 
September  John  sent  home  13(M.  for  his  mother.1 

i  Carlyle  carried  it  to  the  City  to  bo  forwarded  to  the  bank  at  Dumfries,  and  ho 
enlarged  his  experiences  of  London  on  the  way.  "In  my  perambulations."  he  said. 
"I  came  upon  a  strange  anarchy  of  a  place — the  Stock  Exrhanjie.  About  a  hundred 
men  were  jumping  and  jiKH'"K  about  in  a  dintcy,  eontnirtrd  apartment,  ;m<l  yelping 
out  all  manner  of  souiul.s,  which  buoined  to  lie  auctioneer's  oilers,  not  without  imirh 

II.— 12 


266  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

To  John  Carlyle,  Rome. 

"Chelsea:  September  21, 1834. 

"Your  kind  letter,  my  dear  Jack,  was  read  over  with  a  feeling 
such  as  it  merited:  it  went  nearer  my  heart  than  anything  address- 
ed to  me  for  long.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  were  not  tears  in 
the  business,  but  they  were  not  sad  ones.  Your  offers  and  purposes 
are  worthy  of  a  brother,  and  I  were  but  unworthy  if  I  met  them  in 
any  mean  spirit.  I  believe  there  is  no  other  man  living  from  whom 
such  offers  as  yours  were  other  to  me  than  a  pleasant  sound  which 
I  must  disregard;  but  it  is  not  so  with  these;  for  I  actually  can 
(without  damage  to  any  good  feeling  in  me),  and  will,  if  need  be, 
make  good  use  of  them.  We  will,  as  you  say,  stand  by  one  another; 
and  so  each  of  us,  were  all  other  men  arranged  against  us,  have  one 
friend.  Well  that  it  is  so.  Wohl  ihm  dem  die  (feburt  den  Brud<r 
gab.  I  will  not  speak  any  more  about  this,  but  keep  it  laid  up  in 
my  mind  as  a  thing  to  act  by.  I  feel,  as  I  once  said,  double-strong 
in  the  possession  of  my  poor  Doil,1  and  so  I  suppose  we  shall  quar- 
rel many  times  yet,  and  instantly  agree  again,  and  argue  and  sym- 
pathize, and  on  the  whole  stand  by  one  another  through  good  and 
evil,  and  turn  two  fronts  to  the  world  while  we  are  both  spared  in  it. 
Amen  !  There  are  many  wallowing  in  riches,  splendent  in  dignities, 
who  have  no  such  possession  as  this.  Let  us  be  thankful  for  it,  and 
approve  ourselves  worthy  of  it. 

"I  have  not  yet  earned  sixpence  since  I  came  hither,  and  see  not 
that  I  am  advancing  towards  such  a  thing :  however,  I  do  not  '  tine 
heart.'  Indeed,  that  money  consideration  gives  me  wonderfully 
little  sorrow;  we  can  hold  out  a  long  time  yet.  It  is  very  true,  also, 
what  you  say,  that  soliciting  among  the  bibliopoles  were  the  worst 
policy.  Indeed,  I  have  no  deeper  wish  than  that  bread  for  me  of 
the  brownest  sort  were  providable  elsewhere  than  with  them.  We 
shall  not  cease  to  try.  One  comfortable  thing  is  the  constant  convic- 
tion I  have  that  here  or  nowhere  is  the  place  for  me.  I  must  swim 
or  sink  Jtere.  Withal,  too,  I  feel  the  influences  of  the  place  on  me 
rebuking  much  in  my  late  ways  of  writing  and  speech:  within  my 
own  heart  I  am  led  to  overhaul  many  things,  and  alter  or  mourn  for 
them.  I  might  say,  generally,  that  I  am  leading  a  rather  painful 
but  not  unprofitable  life.  At  spes  infracta  !  I  look  up  to  the  ever- 
lasting sky,  and,  with  the  azure  infinitude  all  around  me,  cannot  think 
that  I  was  made  in  vain.  These  things,  however,  I  do  not  well  to 
speak  of  yet,  or  perhaps  at  all.  The  best  news  is  that  I  have  actu- 
ally begun  that  'French  Revolution,'  and  after  two  weeks  of  blotch- 
ing and  bloring  have  produced — two  clean  pages!  Ach  Oott!  But 
my  hand  is  out;  and  I  am  altering  my  style  too,  and  troubled  about 
many  things.  Bilious,  too,  in  these  smothering,  windless  days.  It 
shall  be  such  a  book :  quite  an  epic  poem  of  the  Revolution :  an  apoth- 
eosis of  Sansculottism !  Seriously,  when  in  good  spirits  I  feel  as  if 

laughter  and  other  miscellaneous  tumult.    I  thought  of  the  words  '  trades'  contentious 
hell;'    but  had  no  room  for  reflections.     A  red-necked  official  coming  up  with  tho 
assurance  that  this  place  was  'private,  sir,'  I  departed  with  a  '  thousand  pardons'  and 
satisfaction  that  I  had  seen  the  Domdauiel.     These  were  my  discoveries  in  the  city. " 
i  Family  nickname  for  John  Carlyle. 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  267 

there  were  the  matter  of  a  very  considerable  work  -within  me;  but 
the  task  of  shaping  and  uttering  will  be  frightful.  Here,  as  in  so 
many  other  respects,  I  am  alone,  without  models,  without  limits 
(this  is  a  great  want),  and  must — just  do  the  best  I  can." 

The  expected  provision-barrels  from  Scotsbrig  were  long  in  arriv- 
ing, and  Carlyle  had  to  quicken  the  family  movements  in  the  end  of 
October  by  a  representation  of  the  state  of  things  to  which  he  and 
his  wife  were  reduced.  ' '  It  will  seem  absurd  enough  to  tell  you, "  he 
wrote  to  his  mother,  "that  we  are  in  haste  now  after  waiting  so 
long;  but  the  truth  is,  our  meal  has  been  done  for  a  fortnight,  and 
we  have  the  strangest  shifts  for  a  supper.  Amongst  others,  flour- 
porridge,  exactly  shoemaker's  paste,  only  clean;  and  at  last  have 
been  obliged  to  take  to  some  of  the  Scotch  oatmeal  sold  in  the  shops 
here  —  very  dear,  fivepence  a  quart  by  measure  —  which,  though 
rough,  is  quite  sound,  which  therefore  we  can  thankfully  use;  so 
you  need  not  suppose  us  starving.  The  butter,  too,  is  almost  always 
excellent  (churned,  I  believe,  out  of  milk),  at  the  easy  rate  of  sixteen- 
pence  a  pound!  In  regard  to  provision,  I  shall  only  add  that  the 
beef-ham  daily  plays  its  part  at  breakfast,  and  proves  thoroughly 
genuine.  The  butcher  came  here  one  day  to  saw  the  bone  of  it,  and 
asked  with  amazement  whether  it  was  pork  or  not.  He  had  never 
heard  of  any  ham  but  a  bacon  one,  and  departed  from  us  with  a 
new  idea.  N.B. — We  get  coffee  to  breakfast  (at  eight  or  nearly  so), 
have  very  often  mutton-chops  to  dinner  at  three,  then  tea  at  six ;  we 
have  four  pennyworth  of  cream,  two  pennyworth  of  milk,  daily. 
This  is  our  diet,  which  I  know  you  would  rather  know  than  not 
know." 

For  the  rest,  life  went  on  without  much  variety.  "Bessy  Barnet " 
left  Cheyne  Row  after  two  months,  being  obliged  to  return  to  her 
mother,  and  they  had  to  find  another  servant  among  the  London 
maids  of  all  work.  Carlyle  crushed  down  his  dispiritment ;  found, 
at  any  rate,  that  ' '  nothing  like  the  deep  mlkiness  of  Craigenput- 
tock"  troubled  him  in  London.  He  felt  that  "he  was  in  the  right 
workshop  if  he  could  but  get  acquainted  with  the  tools."  "Teu- 
felsdrockh,"  circulating  in  a  stitched-up  form,  made  out  of  the  sheets 
of  Fraser,  was  being  read,  a  few  persons  really  admiring  it;  the 
generality  turning  up  their  eyes  in  speechless  amazement.  Irving 
had  departed,  having  gone  to  Scotland,  where  he  was  reported  as 
lying  ill  at  Glasgow,  and,  to  Carlyle's  very  deep  distress,  likely  to 
die. 

Among  minor  adventures,  Carlyle  was  present  at  the  burning  of 
the  Houses  of  Parliament.  "The  crowd,"  he  says,  "was  quiet, 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise;  whewed  and  whistled  when  the 
breeze  came,  as  if  to  encourage  it.  'There's  a  flare-up  for  the 
House  of  Lords!'  '  A  judgment  for  the  Poor-law  Bill!'  '  There  go 


268  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

their  ffacts!'    Such  exclamations  seemed  to  be  the  prevailing  ones: 
a  man  sorry  I  did  not  see  anywhere." 

Horny-handed  Radicalism  gave  Carlyle  a  grim  satisfaction.  He 
considered  modern  society  so  corrupt  that  he  expected,  or  rather 
desired,  an  immediate  end  to  it.  But  Radicalism,  too,  had  its  un- 
favorable aspects,  especially  when  it  showed  itself  in  the  direction 
of  female  emancipation. 

"Mill  and  one  or  two  of  his  set  [lie  said]  are,  on  the  whole,  the 
reasonablest  people  we  have.  However,  we  see  them  seldom,  being 
so  far  off,  and  Mill  himself,  who  would  be  far  the  best  of  them  all, 
is  greatly  occupied  of  late  times  with  a  set  of  quite  opposite  charac- 
ter, which  the  Austins  and  other  friends  mourn  much  and  fear  much 
over.  Fox  the  Socinian,  and  a  flight  of  really  wretched-looking 
'  friends  of  the  species, '  who  (in  writing  and  deed)  struggle  not  in 
favor  of  duty  being  done,  but  against  duty  of  any  sort  being  required. 
A  singular  creed  this;  but  I  can  assure  you  a  very  observable  one 
here  in  these  days:  by  me  deeply  hated  as  the  GLARE  which  is  its 
color  (die  seine  Farbe  isf)  and  substance  likewise  mainly.  Jane  and 
I  often  say,  'Before  all  mortals,  beware  of  friends  of  the  species!' 
Most  of  these  people  are  very  indignant  at  marriage  and  the  like, 
and  frequently,  indeed,  are  obliged  to  divorce  their  own  wives,  or 
be  divorced;  for  though  this  world  is  already  blooming  (or  is  one 
day  to  do  it)  in  everlasting  'happiness  of  the  greatest  number,' 
these  people's  own  Jwnises  (I  always  find)  are  little  hells  of  improvi- 
dence, discord,  and  unreason.  Mill  is  far  above  all  that,  and  I  think 
will  not  sink  into  it;  however,  I  do  wish  him  fairly  far  from  it,  and, 
though  I  cannot  speak  of  it  directly,  would  fain  help  him  out.  He 
is  one  of  the  best  people  I  ever  saw." 

The  next  letter  is  from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  which  Carlyle  interprets. 

"Mournfully  beautiful  [he  says]  is  this  letter  to  me;  a  clear  lit- 
tle household  light  shining  pure  and  brilliant  in  the  dark  obstructive 
places  of  the  past.  The  two  East-Lothian  friends  are  George  Ren- 
nie  the  sculptor,  and  his  pretty  sister,  wife  of  an  ex-Indian  ship- 
captain. 

"  Eliza  Miles  and  the  Mileses  are  the  good  people  in  Ampton  Street 
with  whom  we  lodged.  Eliza,  their  daughter,  felt  quite  captivated 
with  my  Jane,  and  seems  to  have  vowed  eternal  loyalty  to  her  al- 
most at  first  sight;  was  for  coming  to  be  our  servant  at  Craigenput- 
tock;  actually  wrote  proposing  it  then — the  most  tempting  off er  to 
us,  had  not  the  rough  element  and  the  delicate  aspirant  been  evi- 
dently irreconcilable  !  She  continued  to  visit  us  here  at  moderate 
intervals  ;  wrote  me,  after  my  calamity  befell,  the  one  letter  of  con- 
dolence I  could  completely  read.  She  was  a  very  pretty  and  to  us 
interesting  specimen  of  the  London  maiden  of  the  middle  classes; 
refined,  polite,  pious,  clever  both  of  hand  and  mind.  No  gentle- 
woman could  have  a  more  upright,  modest,  affectionate,  and  uncon- 
sciously high  demeanor.  Her  father  had  long  been  in  a  prosperous 
upholsterer's  business,  but  the  firm  had  latterly  gone  away.  He  was 
a  very  good-natured,  respectable  man,  quietly  much  sympathized 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  269 

with  in  his  own  house.  Eliza,  with  her  devout  temper,  had  been 
drawn  to  Edward  Irving;  went  daily,  alone  of  her  family,  to  his 
chapel  in  those  years  1831-2,  and  was  to  the  last  one  of  his  most 
reverent  disciples.  She  did,  in  her  soft,  loyal  way,  right  well  in  the 
world ;  married  poorly  enough,  but  wisely,  and  is  still  living  a  rich 
man's  wife  and  the  mother  of  prosperous  sons  and  daughters. 

"  '  Buller's  Radical  meeting '  was  a  meeting  privately  got  up  by 
Charles  Buller,  but  ostensibly  managed  by  others,  which  assembled 
itself  largely  and  with  emphasis  at  the  London  Tavern,  to  say  what 
it  thought  of  the  first  reappearance  of  Peel  and  Co.,  after  the  Re- 
form Bill — 'first  Peel  Ministry,'  which  lasted  only  a  short  time.  I 
duly  attended  the  meeting  (never  another  in  my  life),  and  remem- 
bered it  well.  Had  some  interest — not  much.  The  two  thousand 
human  figures,  wedged  in  the  huge  room  into  one  dark  mass,  were 
singular  to  look  down  upon,  singular  to  hear  their  united  voice  com- 
ing clearly  as  from  one  heart,  their  fiery  '  Yes,'  their  sternly  bellow- 
ing '  No. '  I  could  notice  too  what  new  laws  there  were  of  speak- 
ing to  such  a  mass:  no  matter  how  intensely  consentaneous  your 
two  thousand  were,  and  how  much  you  agreed  with  every  one  of 
them,  you  must  likewise  begin  where  they  began,  follow  pretty  ex- 
actly their  sequence  of  thoughts,  or  they  lost  sight  of  your  intention, 
and  for  noise  of  contradiction  to  you  and  to  one  another  you  could 
not  be  heard  at  all.  That  was  new  to  me,  that  second  thing,  and 
little  or  nothing  else  was.  In  the  speeches  I  had  no  interest  except  a 
phenomenal ;  indeed,  had  to  disagree  throughout  more  or  less  with 
every  part  of  them.  Roebuck  knew  the  art  best,  kept  the  two 
thousand  in  constant  reverberation,  more  and  more  rapturous,  by  his 
adroitly  correct  series  of  commonplaces.  John  Crawford,  much 
more  original,  lost  the  series,  and  had  to  sit  down  again  ignomiu- 
iously  unheard.  I  walked  briskly  home  much  musing.  Found  her 
waiting,  eager  enough  for  any  news  I  had. — T.  C." 

"    To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Chelsea  :  November  21, 1834. 

"My  dear  Mother, — Now  that  franks  are  come  back  into  the 
world,  one  need  not  wait  for  an  inspired  moment  to  write ;  if  one's 
letter  is  worth  nothing,  it  costs  nothing;  nor  will  any  letter  that  tells 
you  of  our  welfare  and  assures  you  of  our  continual  affection  be 
worth  nothing  in  your  eyes,  however  destitute  of  news  or  anything 
else  that  might  make  it  entertaining. 

"The  weather  is  grown  horridly  cold,  and  I  am  chiefly  intent, 
at  present,  on  getting  my  winter  wardrobe  into  order.  I  have  made 
up  the  old  black  gown,  which  was  dyed  puce  for  me  at  Dumfries,  with 
my  own  Juinds.  It  looks  twenty  per  cent,  better  than  when  it  was 
ne\y;  and  I  shall  get  no  other  this  winter.  I  am  now  turning  my 
pelisse.  I  went  yesterday  to  a  milliner  to  buy  a  bonnet.  An  old, 
very  ugly  lady,  upwards  of  seventy  I  am  sure,  was  bargaining  about 
a  cloak  at  the  same  place;  it  was  a  fine  affair  of  satin  and  violet; 
but  she  declared  repeatedly  that  '  it  had  no  air,'  and  for  her  part  she 
could  not  put  on  such  a  thing.  My  bonnet,  I  flatter  myself,  has  an 
air.  A  little  brown  feather  nods  over  the  front  of  it,  and  the  crown 
points  like  a  sugar-loaf  I  The  diameter  of  the  fashionable  ladies  at 


270  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

present  is  about  three  yards;  their  bustles  are  the  size  of  an  ordinary 
sheep's  fleece.  The  very  servant-girls  wear  bustles.  Eliza  Miles 
told  me  a  maid  of  theirs  went  out  one  Sunday  with  three  kitchen 
dusters  pinned  on  as  a  substitute. 

"The  poor  Mileses  are  in  great  affliction.  Mr.  Miles,  about  the 
time  we  came  to  London,  got  into  an  excellent  situation,  and  they 
were  just  beginning  to  feel  independent,  and  look  forward  to  a  com- 
fortable future,  when  one  morning,  about  a  week  ago,  Mr.  Miles,  in 
walking  through  his  warerooms,  was  noticed  to  stagger,  and  one  of 
the  men  ran  and  caught  him  as  he  was  falling.  He  was  carried 
to  a  public-house  close  by,  his  own  house  being  miles  off,  and  his 
wife  and  daughter  sent  for.  He  never  spoke  to  them,  could  nev- 
er be  removed,  but  there,  in  the  midst  of  confusion  and  riot, 
they  sate  watching  him  for  two  days,  when  he  expired.  I  went 
up  to  see  them  so  soon  as  I  heard  of  their  misfortune.  The 
wife  was  confined  to  bed  with  inflammation  in  her  head.  Poor 
Eliza  was  up  and  resigned-looking,  but  the  picture  of  misery.  A 
gentleman  from  Mr.  Irving's  church  was  with  her,  saying  what  he 
could. 

"Mrs.  Montagu  has  quite  given  us  up;  but  we  still  find  it  possible 
to  carry  on  existence.  I  offended  her  by  taking  in  Bessy  Barnet, 
in  the  teeth  of  her  vehement  admonition,  and  now  I  suppose  she  is 
again  offended  that  I  should  receive  a  discharged  servant  of  her 
daughter-in-law's.  I  am  sorry  that  she  should  be  so  whimsical,  for 
as  she  was  my  first  friend  in  London  I  continue  to  feel  a  sort  of 
tenderness  for  her  in  spite  of  many  faults  which  cleave  to  her.  But 
her  society  can  quite  readily  be  dispensed  with  nevertheless;  we 
have  new  acquaintances  always  turning  up,  and  a  pretty  handsome 
stock  of  old  ones. 

"A  brother  and  sister,  the  most  intimate  friends  I  ever  had  in 
East  Lothian,  live  quite  near  (for  London),  and  I  have  other  East- 
Lothian  acquaintances.  Mrs.  Hunt  I  shall  soon  be  quite  terminated 
with,  I  foresee.  She  torments  my  life  out  with  borrowing.  She 
actually  borrowed  one  of  the  brass  fenders  the  other  day,  and  I  had 
difficulty  in  getting  it  out  of  her  hands;  irons,  glasses,  teacups,  silver 
spoons,  are  in  constant  requisition,  and  when  one  sends  for  them  the 
whole  number  can  never  be  found.  Is  it  not  a  shame  to  manage  so 
with  eight  guineas  a  week  to  keep  house  on?  It  makes  me  very  in- 
dignant to  see  all  the  waste  that  goes  on  around  me,  when  I  am 
needing  so  much  care  and  calculation  to  make  ends  meet;  when  we 
dine  out,  to  see  as  much  expended  on  a  dessert  of  fruit  (for  no  use 
but  to  give  people  a  colic)  as  would  keep  us  in  necessaries  for  two 
or  three  weeks.  My  present  maid  has  a  grand-uncle  in  town  -with 
upwards  of  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  who  drives  his  carriage  and 
all  that.  At  a  great  dinner  he  had  he  gave  five  pounds  for  a  couple 
of  pineapples  when  scarce;  and  here  is  his  niece  working  all  the 
year  through  for  eight,  and  he  has  never  given  her  a  farthing  since 
she  came  to  London. 

"My  mother  gave  a  good  account  of  your  looks.  I  hope  you 
will  go  and  see  her  again  for  a  longer  time ;  she  was  so  gratified  by 
your  visit.  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  her,  most  satisfactory,  tell- 
ing me  all  she  knows  about  any  of  you.  She  gives  a  wonderful 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  271 

account  of  some  transcendentally  beautiful  shawl  which  Jean  had 
made  her  a  present  of.  I  am  sure  never  present  gave  more  content- 
ment. 

"  Carlyle  is  going  to  a  Radical  meeting  to-night;  but  there  is  no 
fear  of  his  getting  into  mischief.  Curiosity  is  his  only  motive ;  and 
I  must  away  to  the  butcher  to  get  his  dinner.  I  wish  you  may  be 
able  to  read  what  I  have  written.  I  write  with  a  steel  pen,  which 
is  a  very  unpliable  concern,  and  has  almost  cut  into  my  finger.  God 
bless  you  all.  A  kiss  to  Mary's  new  baby  when  you  see  it. 

"Yours  affectionately,  JANE  CARLYLE." 

"Above  a  month  before  this  date,"  Carlyle  adds,  "Edward  Irving 
rode  to  the  door  one  evening,  came  in  and  stayed  with  us  some 
twenty  minutqs — the  one  call  we  ever  had  of  him  here ;  his  farewell 
before  setting  out  to  ride  towards  Glasgow,  as  the  doctors,  helpless 
otherwise,  had  ordered.  He  was  very  friendly,  calm,  and  affection- 
ate; chivalrously  courteous  to  lier,  as  I  remember.  'Ah  yes,'  look- 
ing round  the  room,  'you  are  like  an  Eve — make  every  place  you 
live  in  beautiful.'  He  was  not  sad  in  manner,  but  was  at  heart,  as 
you  could  notice,  serious,  even  solemn.  Darkness  at  hand,  and  the 
weather  damp,  he  could  not  loiter.  I  saw  him  mount  at  the  door; 
watched  till  he  turned  the  first  corner,  close  by  the  rector's  garden 
door,  and  had  vanished  from  us  altogether.  He  died  at  Glasgow 
before  the  end  of  December." 

Irving  was  dead,  and  with  it  closed  the  last  chapter  of  Jane 
Welsh's  early  romance.  Much  might  be  said  of  the  effect  of  it  both 
on  Irving  and  on  her.  The  characters  of  neither  of  them  escaped 
unscathed  by  the  passionate  love  which  had  once  existed  between 
them.  But  all  that  is  gone,  and  concerns  the  world  no  longer.  I 
will  add  only  an  affectionately  sorrowful  letter  which  Carlyle  wrote 
at  the  time  to  his  mother  when  the  news  from  Glasgow  came. 

To  Mrs.  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig. 

"Chelsea:  December  24, 1834. 

' '  Poor  Edward  Irving,  as  you  have  heard,  has  ended  his  pilgrim- 
age. I  had  been  expecting  that  issue,  but  not  so  soon ;  the  news  of 
his  death,  which  Fraser  the  bookseller  (once  a  hearer  of  his)  com- 
municated quite  on  a  sudden,  struck  me  deeply;  and  the  wae  feeling 
of  what  it  has  all  been,  and  what  it  has  all  ended  in,  kept  increasing 
with  me  for  the  next  ten  days.  Oh,  what  a  wild,  weltering  mass  of 
confusion  is  this  world!  how  its  softest  flatterings  are  but  bewitch- 
ments, and  lead  men  down  to  the  gates  of  darkness!  Nothing  is 
clearer  to  me  than  that  Irving  was  driven  half  mad,  and  finally 
killed,  simply  by  what  once  seemed  his  enviable  fortune,  and  by  the 
hold  it  took  of  him;  killed  as  certainly  (only  a  little  more  slowly)  as 
if  it  had  been  a  draught  of  sweetened  arsenic !  I  am  very  sad  about 
him.  Ten  years  ago,  when  I  was  first  here,  what  a  rushing  and  run- 
ning !  his  house  never  empty  of  idle  or  half -earnest,  wondering  peo- 
ple, with  their  carriages  and  equipments;  and  now,  alas,  it  i 


272  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

marched  like  a  deceitful  vision;  and  all  is  emptiness,  desertion,  and 
his  place  knows  him  no  more  !  He  was  a  good  man  too;  that  I  do 
heartily  believe :  his  faults,  we  may  hope,  were  abundantly  expiated 
in  this  life,  and  now  his  memory — as  that  of  the  just  ought — shall  be 
hallowed  with  us.  One  thing  with  another,  I  have  not  found  another 
such  man.  I  shall  never  forget  these  last  times  I  saw  him;  I  longed 
much  to  help  him,  to  deliver  him,  but  could  not  do  it.  My  poor 
first  friend — my  first,  and  best !  Fraser  applied  to  me  to  write  a  word 
about  him,  which  I  did;  and,  after  much  hithering  and  thithering,  I 
ascertain  to-day  that  it  is  at  last  to  be  printed 1  (in  some  tolerable 
neighborhood,  for  we  discorded  about  that)  in  his  magazine.  I  will 
send  you  a  copy  of  it,  and  another  for  his  mother,  which  you  may 
deliver  her  yourself.  Go  and  see  the  poor  old  forsaken  widow :  it 
will  do  her  good,  and  yourself.  Tell  her  that  her  son  did  not  live 
for  Time  only,  but  for  Eternity  too;  that  he  has  fought  the  good 
fight,  as  we  humbly  trust,  and  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth.  There  are 
few  women  whom  I  pity  more  than  poor  old  Mrs.  Irving  at  this  mo- 
ment :  few  years  ago  all  was  prosperous  with  her ;  she  had  sons,  a 
cheerful  household;  could  say,  Oh,  Edward,  lam  proud  of  ye :  now 
'  ruin's  ploughshare '  has  passed  over  her,  and  it  is  all  fled." 

Tenderly,  beautifully,  Carlyle  could  feel  for  his  friend.  No  more 
touching  "funeral  oration"  was  ever  uttered  over  a  lost  companion 
than  hi  the  brief  paper  of  which  here  he  spoke ;  and  his  heart  at  the 
time  was  heavy  for  himself  also.  He  had  almost  lost  hope.  At  no 
past  period  of  his  life  does  the  Journal  show  more  despondency 
than  in  this  autumn  and  winter.  He  might  repeat  his  mother's 
words  to  himself,  "tine  heart,  tine  a'."  But  the  heart  was  near 
"lined,"  for  all  that. 

Extracts  from  Journal. 

"Monday,  September  8, 1834. — Pain  was  not  given  thee  merely  to 
be  miserable  under;  learn  from  it,  turn  it  to  account. 

"Yesterday  set  out  to  go  and  see  Mrs. Taylor — Jane  with  me. 
Broke  down  in  the  park;  Mnnte  nichts  mehr,  being  sick  and  weak 
beyond  measure ;  sate  me  down  in  a  seat  looking  over  the  green  with 
its  groups,  Jane  gone  to  make  a  call  hi  the  neighborhood;  Mrs. Tay- 
lor with  her  husband  make  their  appearance,  walking;  pale  she,  and 
passionate  and  sad-looking:  really  felt  a  kind  of  interest  in  her. 

' ' '  French  Revolution '  begun,  but,  alas  1  not  in  the  right  style, 
not  in  the  style  that  can  stand.  The  mind  has  not  yet  grappled  with 
it  heartily  enough :  must  seize  it,  crush  the  secret  out  of  it,  and  make 
or  mar. 

"  Acknowledgments  of  '  Teuf elsdrockh '  worthless  to  me  one  and 

all.  '  Madam,'  said  I  the  other  night  to  poor  hollow  Mrs. ,  '  it 

is  a  work  born  in  darkness,  destined  for  oblivion,  and  not  worth 
wasting  a  word  on.'  " 

"September  10. —  'French  Revolution'  shapeless,  dark,  unman- 
ageable. Know  not  this  day,  for  example,  on  what  side  to  attack  it; 

i  Republished  in  the  fourth  volume  of  Carlyle's  "Miscellanies." 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  273 

yet  must  forward.     One  of  the  things  I  need  most  is  to  subdue  my 
polemics,  my  ill-nature." 

"September  27. — Walk  in  the  evening  by  Millbank  and  the  dusty, 
desolate  shore  with  Jane :  gloom ;  rest.  One  day  in  the  little  garden 
see  a  huge  spider  kill  a  fly ;  see  it  kill  a  second,  lift  something  and 
angrily  kill  it.  Consider  what  a  world  of  benevolence  this  is ;  how 
many  forces  are  at  work  in  Nature;  how  multiplex,  unfathomable 
is  she." 

"  October  1. — This  morning  think  of  the  old  primitive  Edinburgh 
scheme  of  engineership ;l  almost  meditate  for  a  moment  resuming  it 
yet !  It  were  a  method  of  gaining  bread,  of  getting  into  contact  with 
men,  my  two  grand  wants  and  prayers.  In  general,  it  may  be  said 
no  man  ever  so  wanted  any  practical  adviser,  or  shadow  of  one ;  it 
is  utterly,  from  of  old  (and  even  the  very  appearance  of  it),  with- 
held from  me.  Sad ;  not  irremediable  now.  My  isolation,  my  feel- 
ing of  loneliness,  unlimitedness  (much  meant  by  this),  what  tongue 
shall  tell?  Alone,  alone  !  "Woes  too  deep — woes  which  cannot  be 
written  even  here.  Patience,  unwearied  endeavor  ! 

"Surprised  occasionally  and  grieved  to  find  myself  not  only  so  dis- 
liked— suspected — but  so  known.  Though  at  Puttock  I  saw  no  au- 
dience, I  had  one,  and  often  '(in  all  Whig  circles)  a  most  writhing 
one.  Dommage  ?  Yes  and  no. 

' '  Didst  thou  ever  hitherto  want  bread  and  clothes?  No.  Courage, 
then!  But,  above  all  things,  diligence.  And  so  to  work." 

"Sunday,  October  5.  —  Calm,  smoky  weather.  A  pale  sun  gets 
the  better  of  the  vapors  towards  noon,  the  sad  sinking  year.  See 
M'Culloch  and  speak  with  him.  Promise  to  see  him  again.  A 
hempen  man,  but  genuine  hemp.  Hunt  invites  us  over  pressingly 
for  the  evening.  Go,  and  sit  talking ;  not  miserable,  yet  with 
the  deepest  sea  of  misery  lying  in  the  background.  '  Kemote,  un- 
friended, solitary,  low.'  Courage  !  Do  not  tine  lieart.  On  the 
whole,  how  much  have  I  to  learn!  Let  me  not  think  myself  too  old 
to  learn  it." 

"  Meanwhile  here  is  another  blessed,  still  day  given  me.  Let  me 
work  wisely  therein  while  it  lasts.  Oh  that  I  could  weep  and  pray ! 
Does  a  God  hear  these  dumb  troublous  aspirations  of  my  soul? 
Credamus  !  ut  vicamus  /" 

"November  1. — What  a  long-drawn  wail  are  these  foregoing  pages, 
which  I  have  just  read !  Why  add  another  note  to  it  at  present?  In 
general,  except  when  writing,  I  never  feel  myself  that  I  am  alive. 
So  the  last  week  too  has  been  a  doleful  one.  Complain  not.  Strug- 
gle, thou  weakling." 

"  November  27. — It  is  many  days  since  I  have  written  aught  here; 
days  of  suffering,  of  darkness,  despondency ;  great,  not  yet  too  great 
for  me.  Ill-health  has  much  to  do  with  it,  ill-success  with  the  book 

» After  throwing  up  the  law,  Carlyle  had  for  a  few  days  thought  of  becoming  an 
engineer. 

II.— 12* 


274  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

has  somewhat.  No  prospect,  no  definite  hope  nor  the  slightest  ray 
of  such.  Stand  to  thy  tackle!  Endure!  Endeavor!  It  must  alter, 
and  shall;  but  on  with  this  present  task,  at  any  rate.  That  thou  hast 
clear  before  thee. 

"  Radical  meeting  (Buller's)  at  the  City  of  London  Tavern  on  Fri- 
day night  last.  Meaning  of  a  multitude  of  men :  their  fierce  bark 
(what  in  Annandale  we  call  a  gollie),  primary  indispensability  of 
lungs.  Radical  Murphy,  with  cylindrical  high  head  (like  a  water- 
can),  pot-belly,  and  voice  like  the  Great  Bell  of  Moscow.  All  in 
earnest.  Can  Wellington  stay  in?  for  long,  may  be  doubted.  Peel 
not  yet  heard  of." 

"1835. — Twelve  o'clock  has  just  struck:  the  last  hour  of  1834,  the 
first  of  a  new  year.  Bells  ringing  (to  me  dolefully).  A  wet  wind 
blustering.  My  wife  in  bed,  very  unhappily  ill  of  "a  foot  which  the 
puddle  of  a  maid  scalded  three  weeks  ago.  I,  after  a  day  of  fruit- 
less toil,  reading  and  rereading  about  that  Versailles  6th  of  October 
still.  It  is  long  time  since  I  have  written  anything  here.  The  future 
looks  too  black  round  me,  the  present  too  doleful,  unfriendly.  I  am 
too  sick  at  heart,  wearied,  wasted  in  body,  to  complain,  even  to  my- 
self. My  first  friend  Edward  Irving  is  dead  above  three  weeks  ago. 
I  am  friendless  here,  or  as  good  as  that.  My  book  cannot  get  on, 
though  I  stick  to  it  like  a  bur.  Why  should  I  say  Peace,  peace, 
when  there  is  no  peace?  May  God  grant  me  strength  to  do  or  to 
endure  aright  what  is  appointed  me  in  this  coming,  now  commenc- 
ing, division  of  time.  Let  me  not  despair — nay,  I  do  not  in  general. 
Enough  to-night,  for  I  am  doiw!  Peace  be  to  my  mother  and  all  my 
loved  ones  that  yet  live.  What  a  noisy  inanity  is  this  world !" 


With  these  words  I  close  the  story  of  Carlyle's  apprenticeship. 
His  training  was  over.  He  was  now  a  master  in  his  craft,  on  the 
eve,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  of  universal  recognition  as  an  origi- 
nal and  extraordinary  man.  Henceforward  his  life  was  in  his 
works.  The  outward  incidents  of  it  will  be  related  in  his  wife's 
letters  and  in  his  own  explanatory  notes.  My  part  has  been  to  fol- 
low him  from  the  peasant's  home  in  which  he  was  born  and  nurt- 
ured to  the  steps  of  the  great  position  which  he  was  afterwards  to 
occupy;  to  describe  his  trials  and  his  struggles,  and  the  effect  of 
them  upon  his  mind  and  disposition.  He  has  been  substantially  his 
own  biographer.  But  no  one,  especially  no  one  of  so  rugged  and 
angular  a  character,  sees  the  lights  and  shadows  precisely  as  others 
see  them.  When  a  man  of  letters  has  exercised  an  influence  so  vast 
over  successive  generations  of  thinkers,  the  world  has  a  right  to 
know  the  minutest  particulars  of  his  life;  and  the  sovereigns  of 
literature  can  no  more  escape  from  the  fierce  light  which  beats  upon 
a  throne  than  the  kings  and  ministers  who  have  ruled  the  destinies 
of  states  and  empires.  Carlyle  had  no  such  high  estimate  of  his  own 
consequence.  His  poor  fortunes  he  considered  to  be  of  moment  to 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  275 

no  one  but  himself;  but  he  knew  that  the  world  would  demand  an 
account  of  him,  and,  with  characteristic  unreserve,  he  placed  his 
journals  and  his  correspondence  in  my  hands,  with  no  instructions 
save  that  I  should  tell  the  truth  about  him,  and,  if  shadows  there 
were,  that  least  of  all  should  I  conceal  them. 

If  in  this  part  of  my  duty  I  have  erred  at  all,  I  have  erred  in  ex- 
cess, not  in  defect.  It  is  the  nature  of  men  to  dwell  on  the  faults  of 
those  who  stand  above  them.  They  are  comforted  by  perceiving 
that  the  person  whom  they  have  heard  so  much  admired  was  but  of 
common  clay,  after  all.  The  life  of  no  man,  authentically  told,  will 
ever  be  found  free  from  fault.  Carlyle  has  been  seen  in  these  vol- 
umes fighting  for  thirty-nine  years — fighting  with  poverty,  with  dys- 
pepsia, with  intellectual  temptations,  with  neglect  or  obstruction 
from  his  fellow-mortals.  Their  ways  were  not  his  ways.  His  atti- 
tude was  not  different  only  from  their  attitude,  but  was  a  condem- 
nation of  it,  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  they  would  look 
kindly  on  him.  His  existence  hitherto  had  been  a  prolonged  battle ; 
a  man  does  not  carry  himself  in  such  conflicts  so  wisely  and  warily 
that  he  can  come  out  of  them  unscathed ;  and  Carlyle  carried  scars 
from  his  wounds  both  on  his  mind  and  on  his  temper.  He  had 
stood  aloof  from  parties;  he  had  fought  his  way  alone.  He  was 
fierce  and  uncompromising.  To  those  who  saw  but  the  outside  of 
him  he  appeared  scornful,  imperious,  and  arrogant.  He  was  stern 
in  his  judgment  of  others.  The  sins  of  passion  he  could  pardon, 
but  the  sins  of  insincerity,  or  half-sincerity,  he  could  never  pardon. 
He  would  not  condescend  to  the  conventional  politenesses  which  re- 
move the  friction  between  man  and  man.  He  called  things  by  their 
right  names,  and  in  a  dialect  edged  with  sarcasm.  Thus  he  was 
often  harsh  when  he  ought  to  have  been  merciful;  he  was  contempt- 
uous where  he  had  no  right  to  despise ;  and  in  his  estimate  of  mo- 
tives and  actions  was  often  unjust  and  mistaken.  He,  too,  who  was 
so  severe  with  others,  had  weaknesses  of  his  own  of  which  he  was 
unconscious  in  the  excess  of  his  self-confidence.  He  was  proud — 
one  may  say  savagely  proud.  It  was  a  noble  determination  in  him 
that  he  would  depend  upon  himself  alone;  but  he  would  not  only 
accept  no  obligation,  but  he  resented  the  offer  of  help  to  himself,  or 
to  any  one  belonging  to  him,  as  if  it  had  been  an  insult.  He  never 
wholly  pardoned  Jeffrey  for  having  made  his  brother's  fortune. 
His  temper  had  been  ungovernable  from  his  childhood ;  he  had  the 
irritability  of  a  dyspeptic  man  of  genius;  and  when  the  Devil,  as  he 
called  it,  had  possession  of  him,  those  whose  comfort  he  ought  most 
to  have  studied  were  the  most  exposed  to  the  storm :  he  who  preached 
so  wisely  "  on  doing  the  duty  which  lay  nearest  to  us,"  forgot  his 
own  instructions,  and  made  no  adequate  effort  to  cast  the  Devil  out. 
Nay,  more  :  there  broke  upon  him  in  his  late  years,  like  a  flash  of 


276  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

lightning  from  heaven,  the  terrible  revelation  that  he  had  sacrificed 
his  wife's  health  and  happiness  in  his  absorption  in  his  work ;  that 
he  had  been  oblivious  of  his  most  obvious  obligations,  and  had  been 
negligent,  inconsiderate,  and  selfish.  The  fault  was  grave  and  the 
remorse  agonizing.  For  many  years  after  she  had  left  him,  when 
we  passed  the  spot  in  our  walks  where  she  was  last  seen  alive,  he 
would  bare  his  gray  head  in  the  wind  and  rain — his  features  wrung 
with  unavailing  sorrow.  Let  all  this  be  acknowledged;  and  let 
those  who  know  themselves  to  be  without  either  these  sins,  or  others 
as  bad  as  these,  freely  cast  stones  at  Carlyle. 

But  there  is  the  other  side  of  the  account.  In  the  weightier  mat- 
ters of  the  law,  Carlyle's  life  had  been  without  speck  or  flaw.  From 
his  earliest  years,  in  the  home  at  Ecclefechan,  at  school,  at  college, 
in  every  incident  or  recorded  aspect  of  him,  we  see  invariably  the 
same  purity,  the  same  innocence  of  heart,  and  uprightness  and  in- 
tegrity of  action.  As  a  child,  as  a  boy,  as  a  man,  he  had  been  true 
in  word  and  honest  and  just  in  deed.  There  is  no  trace,  not  the 
slightest,  of  levity  or  folly.  He  sought  his  friends  among  the  wor- 
thiest of  his  fellow-students,  and  to  those  friends  he  was  from  the 
first  a  special  object  of  respect  and  admiration.  His  letters,  even  in 
early  youth,  were  so  remarkable  that  they  were  preserved  as  treas- 
ures by  his  correspondents.  In  the  thousands  which  I  have  read, 
either  written  to  Carlyle  or  written  by  him,  I  have  found  no  sen- 
tence of  his  own  which  he  could  have  wished  unwritten,  or,  through 
all  those  trying  years  of  incipient  manhood,  a  single  action  alluded 
to  by  others  which  those  most  jealous  of  his  memory  need  regret  to 
read,  or  his  biographer  need  desire  to  conceal.  Which  of  us  would 
not  shiver  at  the  thought  if  his  own  life  were  to  be  exposed  to  the 
same  dreadful  ordeal,  and  his  own  letters,  or  the  letters  of  others 
written  about  him,  were  searched  through  for  the  sins  of  his  youth? 
These,  it  may  be  Said,  are, but  negative  virtues.  But  his  positive 
qualities  were  scarcely  less  beautiful.  Nowhere  is  a  man  known 
better  than  in  his  own  family.  No  disguise  is  possible  there;  and 
he  whom  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister,  love,  we  may  be  sure 
has  deserved  to  be  loved. 

Among  the  many  remarkable  characteristics  of  the  Carlyle  house- 
hold, whether  at  Mainhill  or  Scotsbrig,  was  the  passionate  affection 
which  existed  among  them,  and  the  special  love  which  they  all  felt 
for  "Tom."  Well  might  Jeffrey  say  that  Carlyle  would  not  have 
known  poverty  if -he  had  not  been  himself  a  giver.  His  own  habits 
•  were  Spartan  in  their  simplicity,  and  from  the  moment  when  he  be- 
gan to  earn  his  small  salary  as  an  usher  at  Annan,  the  savings  of  his 
thrift  were  spent  in  presents  to  his  father  and  mother  and  in  helping 
to  educate  his  brother.  I,  too,  can  bear  witness  that  the  same  gener- 
ous disposition  remained  with  him  to  the  end.  In  his  later  years  ho 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  277 

had  an  abundant  income,  but  he  never  added  to  his  own  comforts  or 
luxuries.  His  name  was  not  seen  on  charity  lists,  but  he  gave  away 
every  year  perhaps  half  what  he  received.  I  was  myself  in  some  in- 
stances employed  by  him  to  examine  into  the  circumstances  of  per- 
sons who  had  applied  to  him  for  help.  The  stern  censor  was  in 
these  instances  the  kindest  of  Samaritans.  It  was  enough  if  a  man 
or  woman  was  miserable.  He  did  not  look  too  curiously  into  the 
causes  of  it.  I  was  astonished  at  the  profuseness  with  which  he 
often  gave  to  persons  little  worthy  of  his  liberality. 

Nor  was  there,  even  in  those  more  trying  cases  where  men  were 
prospering  beyond  their  merits,  any  malice  or  permanent  ill-will. 
He  was  constitutionally  atrabilious  and  scornful;  but  the  bitterness 
with  which  he  would  speak  of  such  persons  was  on  the  surface 
merely.  "Poor  devil!"  he  would  say  of  some  successful  political 
Philistine,  "after  all,  if  we  looked  into  the  history  of  him,  we  should 
find  how  it  all  came  about. "  He  was  always  sad :  often  gloomy  in 
the  extreme.  Men  of  genius  rarely  take  cheerful  views  of  life. 
They  see  too  clearly.  Dante  and  Isaiah  were  not  probably  exhila- 
rating companions;  but  Carlyle,  when  unpossessed  and  in  his  nat- 
ural humor,  was  gentle,  forbearing,  and  generous. 

If  his  character  as  a  man  was  thus  nobly  upright,  so  he  employed 
his  time  and  his  talents  with  the  same  high  sense  of  responsibility — 
not  to  make  himself  great,  or  honored,  or  admired,  but  as  a  trust  com- 
mitted to  him  for  his  Maker's  purposes.  ' '  What  can  you  say  of 
Carlyle, "  said  Mr.  Ruskin  to  me,  ' '  but  that  he  was  born  in  the  clouds 
and  struck  by  the  lightning?" — "struck  by  the  lightning" — not 
meant  for  happiness,  but  for  other  ends;  a  stern  fate  which  never- 
theless in  the  modern  world,  as  in  the  ancient,  is  the  portion  dealt 
out  to  some  individuals  on  whom  the  heavens  have  been  pleased  to 
set  their  mark.  Gifted  as  he  knew  himself  to  be  with  unusual  abili- 
ties, he  might  have  risen  to  distinction  on  any  one  of  the  beaten  roads 
of  life,  and  have  won  rank  and  wealth  for  himself.  He  glanced  at 
the  Church,  he  glanced  at  the  Bar;  but  there  was  something  working 
in  him  like  the  Aalfj.uv  of  Socrates,  which  warned  him  off  with  an 
imperious  admonition,  and  insisted  on  being  obeyed.  Men  who  fan- 
cy that  they  have  a  "mission"  in  this  world  are  usually  intoxicated 
by  vanity,  and  their  ambition  is  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  their  strength 
to  give  effect  to  it.  But  in  Carlyle  the  sense  of  having  a  mission 
was  the  growth  of  the  actual  presence  in  him  of  the  necessary  pow- 
ers. Certain  associations,  certain  aspects  of  human  life  and  duty, 
had  forced  themselves  upon  him  as  truths  of  immeasurable  conse- 
quence which  the  world  was  forgetting.  He  was  a  nates,  a  seer.  He 
perceived  things  which  others  did  not  see,  and  which  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  force  them  to  see.  He  regarded  himself  as  being  charged 
actually  and  really  with  a  message  which  he  was  to  deliver  to  man- 


S78  LIFE  OP  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

kind,  and,  like  other  prophets,  he  was  "straitened"  till  his  work 
was  accomplished.  A  Goethe  could  speak  in  verse,  and  charm  the 
world  into  listening  to  him  by  the  melody  of  his  voice.  The  deep 
undertones  of  Carlyle's  music  could  not  modulate  themselves  under 
rhyme  and  metre.  For  the  new  matter  which  he  had  to  utter  he  had 
to  create  a  new  form  corresponding  to  it.  He  had  no  pulpit  from 
which  to  preach,  and  through  literature  alone  had  he  any  access  to 
the  world  which  he  was  to  address.  Even  "a  man  of  letters"  must 
live  while  he  writes,  and  Carlyle  had  imposed  conditions  upon  him- 
self which  might  make  the  very  keeping  himself  alive  impossible; 
for  his  function  was  sacred  to  him,  and  he  had  laid  down  as  a  fixed 
rule  that  he  would  never  write  merely  to  please,  never  for  money, 
that  he  would  never  write  anything  save  when  specially  moved  to 
write  by  an  impulse  from  within;  above  all,  never  to  set  down  a  sen- 
tence which  he  did  not  in  his  heart  believe  to  be  true,  and  to  spare 
no  labor  till  his  work  to  the  last  fibre  was  as  good  as  he  could  possi- 
bly make  it. 

These  were  rare  qualities  in  a  modern  writer  whose  bread  depend- 
ed on  his  pen,  and  such  as  might  well  compensate  for  worse  faults 
than  spleen  and  hasty  temper.  He  had  not  starved,  but  he  had  come 
within  measurable  distance  of  starvation.  Nature  is  a  sharp  school- 
mistress, and  when  she  is  training  a  man  of  genius  for  a  great  moral 
purpose,  she  takes  care,  by  "the  constitution  of  things,"  that  he  shall 
not  escape  discipline.  More  than  once  better  hopes  had  appeared 
to  be  dawning.  But  the  sky  had  again  clouded,  and  at  the  time  of 
the  removal  to  London  the  prospect  was  all  but  hopeless.  No  man 
is  bound  to  fight  forever  against  proved  impossibilities.  The  "  French 
Revolution  "  was  to  be  the  last  effort.  If  this  failed,  Carlyle  had 
resolved  to  give  up  the  game,  abandon  literature,  buy  spade  and  rifle, 
and  make  for  the  backwoods  of  America.  "  You  are  not  fit  for  that 
either,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  had  sorrowfully  to  say  to  himself.  Still, 
he  meant  to  try.  America  might  prove  a  kinder  friend  to  him  than 
England  had  been,  in  some  form  or  other.  Worse  it  could  not 
prove. 

For  two  years  the  writing  of  that  book  occupied  him.  The  ma- 
terial grew  on  his  hands,  and  the  first  volume,  for  the  cause  men- 
tioned in  the  "Reminiscences,"  had  to  be  written  a  second  time. 
All  the  mornings  he  was  at  his  desk;  in  the  afternoons  he  took  his 
solitary  walks  in  Hyde  Park,  seeing  the  brilliant  equipages  and  the 
knights  and  dames  of  fashion  prancing  gayly  along  the  Row.  He 
did  not  envy  them.  He  would  not  have  changed  existences  with 
the  brightest  of  these  fortune's  favorites  if  the  wealth  of  England 
had  been  poured  into  the  scale.  But  he  did  think  that  his  own  lot 
was  hard,  so  willing  was  he  to  do  anything  for  an  honest  living,  yet 
with  every  door  closed  against  him.  "Not  one  of  you,"  he  said 


LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  279 

to  himself  as  he  looked  at  them,  "could  do  what  I  am  doing,  and 
it  concerns  you  too,  if  you  did  but  know  it." 

They  did  not  know  it,  and  they  have  not  known  it.  Fifty  years 
have  passed  since  Carlyle  was  writing  the  "French  Revolution." 
The  children  of  fashion  still  canter  under  the  elms  of  the  Park,  as 
their  fathers  and  mothers  were  cantering  then,  and  no  sounds  of 
danger  have  yet  been  audible  to  flutter  the  JVIayfair  dovecotes. 
"They  call  me  a  great  man  now,"  Carlyle  said  to  me  a  few  days 
before  he  died,  "but  not  one  believes  what  I  have  told  them."  But, 
if  they  did  not  believe  the  prophet,  they  could  worship  the  new  star 
which  was  about  to  rise.  The  Annandale  peasant-boy  was  to  be 
the  wonder  of  the  London  world.  He  had  wrought  himself  into  a 
personality  which  all  were  to  be  compelled  to  admire,  and  in  whom 
a  few  recognized,  like  Goethe,  the  advent  of  a  new  moral  force  the 
effects  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  predict. 


INDEX. 


ADVOCATES'  LIBRARY,  the,  Carl  vie  and, 
ii.  190,  194. 

Agnosticism,  Carlyle  on,  ii.  126. 

Agriculture,  English  and  Scotch,  Car- 
lyle on,  i.  140. 

Aitken,  James,  i.  187 ;  marries  Jean 
Carlyle,  ii.  219;  described  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  219;  his  talent  for  picture- 
painting,  ii.  223. 

Alison,  Rev.  A.,  i.  215 ;  his  essay  "  On 
Taste,"  i.  217. 

Allen,  Mr.,  of  York,  i.  149. 

Althorp,  Lord,  ii.  100. 

Andrew's,  St.,  professorship  at,  i.  243 ; 
Carlvle  unsuccessful  in  obtaining,  i. 
245." 

Annan,  Carlyle  at  school  at,  i.  8;  his 
tutorship  at,  i.  19 ;  Irving  at,  i.  51 ; 
Carlyle's  friends  in,  ii.  221. 

Annan,  river,  i.  1. 

Annandale,  L  1,  20;  a  round  of  visits 
iu,  ii.  161. 

"Annual  Register,"  a  literary,  Carlyle 
projects,  i.  219. 

Apocrypha  controversy,  the,  i.  249. 

Aristocracy,  a  true,  wanted,  ii.  53. 

Aristotle  quoted,  i.  215. 

Art,  in  the  Greek  sense,  ii.  121. 

Astronomy,  professorship  of,  in  Edin- 
burgh, ii.  227;  Carlyle's  failure  to 
obtain  this  post,  ii.  228,  Carlyle's 
knowledge  of,  theoretical,  ii.  229 ;  his 
inexperience  with  instruments  and 
in  observing,  ii.  231. 

Atheneeum,  the,  Carlyle's  estimate  of, 
ii.  134. 

Austin,  Mrs.,  ii.  109 ;  Carlyle  visits,  ii. 
110, 131 ;  C.  Buller's  estimate  of,  ii. 
137 ;  a  Radical  and  absolutist,  ii.  188 ; 
characterized,  ii.  251,  259. 

Authors,  on  remuneration  of,  ii.  166. 


Badams,  Mr.,  Carlyle's  first  meeting 
with,  i.  132 ;  invites  Carlyle  to  Bir- 
mingham, i.  132,  133;  treats  him 
medically,  i.  135;  Carlyle's  portrait 
of,  i.  135 ;  ii.  96 ;  his  intemperate 
habits,  ii.  101;  his  death,  ii.  101 
note. 

Barjarg,  library  at,  placed  at  Carlyle's 
service,  ii.  216,  Carlvle  at,  ii.  221, 
226,  236. 

Barnet,  Bessy,  ii.  253, 254  and  note,  257, 
267. 

Barry  Cornwall  (Procter),  L  127.  See 
Procter. 

Basket-maker,  the,  ii.  120. 

Beattie,  Carlyle's  opinion  of,  ii.  236. 

Becker,  Dr.,  death  of,  ii.  143. 

Bell,  Sir  Charles,  i.  63. 

Bentham,  Jeremy,  his  •significance,  ii. 
52 ;  in  his  dotage,  ii.  134 ;  his  death 
and  bequest  of  his  body,  ii.  174. 

Bentinck,  the  Lords,  i.  154. 

Benvenuto  Cellini,  ii.  56. 

Biography  the  only  history,  ii.  134. 

Birmingham,  Carlyle's  visit  to,  i.  133 ; 
picture  of,  i.  134. 

BlackwooiTs  Magazine,  i  42;  Irving 
and,  i.  108. 

Bonnymuir,  rising  on,  i.  41. 

Booksellers,  Carlyle  on,  i.  172 ;  puffing 
by,  ii.  120. 

Bookselling  slain  by  puffery,  ii.  162. 

"  Boots,"  the,  at  New  York,  ii.  209. 

"  Boswell,"  Croker's,  ii.  133. 

Bowring,  John,  ii.  55, 91 ;  described  by 
Carlyle,  ii.  99. 

Brewster,  Sir  David,  employs  Carlyle, 
i.  34 ;  his  "  Encyclopaedia,"  i.  34,  51, 
53,  79,  219;  ii.  192;  the  Astronomy 
professorship  and,  ii.  231,  232. 

Bristol,  fatal  riots  at,  ii.  129. 


INDEX. 


Brougham,  Henry,  i.  240 ;  Carlyle  rec- 
ommended to,  i.  241 ;  unappreciative 
of  Carlyle,  i.  241;  Lord  Chancellor, 
ii.  53 ;  his  character,  ii.  83. 

Brown,  Dr.,  ii.  194. 

Browne,  Sir  T.,  his  "  Urn  -  burial,"  i. 
215;  his  character,  i.  216. 

Buller,  Arthur,  ii.  135. 

Buller,  Charles,  i.  81 ;  Irving's  opinion 
of,  i.  81;  Carlyle 's  opinion  of,  i.  82; 
his  regret  at  parting  with  Carlyle,  i. 
181,  248 ;  letter  to  Carlyle  from,  ii. 
19;  advocates  Utilitarianism,  ii.  20, 
92 ;  an  advanced  Radical,  ii.  125 ;  his 
agnosticism,  ii.  125,  126;  Carlyle'a 
affection  for,  ii.  125 ;  his  early  death, 
ii.  126;  his  appearance,  ii.  127;  his 
poor  opinion  of  magazine  writers,  ii. 
136,  138;  his  letter  to  Carlyle,  ii. 
137;  opinion  of  Mrs.  Austin,  ii.  137 ; 
his  praise  of  Mill,  ii.  137,  138;  his 
legal  studies,  ii.  137;  invitation  to 
stand  for  Liskeard,  ii.  137 ;  stands 
for  Liskeard,  ii.  162;  praised  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  251. 252 ;  his  "  Radical  meet- 
ing," Carlyle's  description  of.  ii.  269. 

Buller,  Mr.,  father  of  Charles  Buller,  i. 
81;  his  character,  i.  96;  friendship 
for  Carlyle,  i.  96;  removes  to  Kin- 
tiaird  House,  i,  102;  leaves  Kimiainl, 
L  120. 

Buller,  Mrs.,  i.  81 ;  consults  Irving 
about  her  sons'  education,  i.  81 ;  en- 
gages Carlyle  as  their  tutor,  i.  81 ; 
her  career  and  character,  i.  95; 
verses  by  John  Leyden  on,  i.  95  note  ; 
interested  in  Carlyle,  i.  96;  her  pa- 
tience with  him,  i.  112:  her  house- 
hold management,  i.  117 ;  compared 
with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Strachey,  i. 
135. 

Bulwer,  Lytton,  Sir  E.,  ii.  133;  his 
"England  and  the  English,"  Car- 
lyle's  opinion  of,  ii.  236. 

Burns,  Robert,  ii.  17;  Lockhart's  Life 
of,  ii.  17 ;  Carlyle's  essay  on,  ii.  18, 21 ; 
Goethe  translates  essay  on,  ii.  22; 
altercation  with  Jeffrey  about  essay 
on,  ii.  23,  25;  on  noble-mindedness 
in  blackguards,  ii.  133 ;  a  Burns 
dinner,  ii.  153. 
Burton  quoted,  i.  215. 


Byron,  Lord,  death  of,  L  124 ;  its  effect 
on  Carlyle  and  Miss  Welsh,  i.  124, 
216;  definition  of,  ii.  54. 

"  Cabinet  Encyclopedia,"  ii.  143. 

Cagliostro,  ii.  190;  Carlyle  studies  his- 
tory of,  ii.  193;  article  on,  ii.  193, 
198"-200. 

Cameronians,  i.  1. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  Carlyle's  introduc- 
tion to,  i.  127 ;  his  wife,  i.  127 ;  esti- 
mate of,  i,  153, 170. 

Canning,  death  of,  i.  238. 

Caricatures  of  Scotch  ministers,  i.  249. 

Carlyle,  James  (father  of  Thomas  Car- 
lyle), i.  2 ;  his  early  hardships,  i.  3 ; 
apprenticed,  i.  4;  anecdote  of,  i.  4; 
sets  up  in  business,  i.  4;  marries  his 
first  wife,  i.  5;  birth  of  a  son  and 
death  of  his  wife,  i.  5;  marries  Mar- 
garet Aitken,  i.  5;  his  character,  i. 
11 ;  gives  up  business  and  takes  farm 
at  Mainhill,  i.  19,  20 :  letter  to  his 
son  Thomas,  i.  101 ;  his  reception  of 
Miss  Welsh,  i.  180 ;  removes  to  Scots- 
brig,  i.  191,  192;  serious  illness,  ii. 
138 ;  his  last  letter  to  his  son  Thom- 
as, ii.  139;  change  of  manner,  ii.  139; 
his  last  letter  from  T.  Carlyle,  ii.  139 , 
death  of,  ii.  143;  his  personal  quali- 
ties, ii.  144 ;  memoir  of,  in  "  Rem- 
iniscences," ii.  144;  his  will,  ii.  158. 

Carlyle,  Jane  Welsh  (wife  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  as  a  hostess,  i.  219,  222; 
her  letters  to  Carlyle's  mother,  i. 
220,  222 ;  her  household  manage- 
ment, i.  224 ;  her  aversion  to  Craig- 
enputtock,  i.  225;  introduction  to 
Jeffrey,  i.  229 ;  present  from  Goethe, 
i.  232,  236 ;  her  attempt  at  bread- 
making,  ii.  17  note ;  laborious  house- 
hold duties,  ii.  27 ;  leajns  Spanish, 
ii.  28 ;  complains  of  loneliness,  ii.  35 ; 
severe  illness,  ii.  38  ;  Jeffrey's  anxi- 
ety respecting,  ii.  58,  72;  her  pres- 
ent to  Goethe,  ii.  58;  lines  from 
him,  ii.  61,  62;  correspondence  with 
Lord  Jeffrey,  ii.  92;  her  judgment  on 
"Sartor  Resartus,"  ii.  93 ;  a  former 
suitor,  ii.  101;  a  pecuniary  offer 
from  Mrs.  Montagu  declined,  ii.102; 
prepares  to  join  Carlyle  in  London, 


INDEX. 


283 


ii.  114;  voyage  to  Liverpool,  ii.  118 
note ;  arrival  in  London,  ii.  118; 
in  London  society,  ii.  119 ;  at  En- 
field,  ii.  129 ;  on  London  climate,  ii. 
129, 130 ;  on  London  people,  ii.  130 ; 
her  estimate  of  Mrs.  Montagu  and 
Mrs.  Austin,  ii.  130, 131 ;  returns  to 
Scotland,  ii.  154;  her  dreary  life  and 
delicate  health  on  the  moors,  ii.  155; 
her  desire  for  intellectual  compan- 
ionship disappointed,  ii.  155;  her 
correspondence  with  Jeffrey,  ii.  155, 
156,  167 ;  her  trials  and  stoicism,  ii. 
167 ,  her  friendship  for  Miss  Miles, 
ii.  168 ;  corresponds  with,  ii.  168 ;  on 
fine  ladies,  ii.  168 ;  on  their  home  life, 
ii.  169,  her  verses  "  To  a  Swallow," 
ii.  170 ;  goes  to  Templand,  ii.  185; 
death  of  her  grandfather,  Mr.  Welsh, 
of  Templand,  ii.  185;  letter  from 
Mrs.  Austin,  it.  188;  continued  ill- 
health,  ii.  202 ;  her  letter  to  Miss 
Miles,  ii.  205 ;  studies  Italian,  ii. 
206;  to  Moffat  with  her  mother,  ii. 
213,  215 ;  letter  to,  from  H.  Inglis, 
quoted,  ii.  216  note;  her  hard  time 
on  the  moors,  ii.  244;  her  verses  in 
answer  to  Carlyle's  "  Cui  Bono?"  ii. 
245;  her  kindness  to  Old  Esther,  ii. 
246 ;  her  arrival  in  London,  ii.  253 ; 
approves  of  house  at  Chelsea,  ii.  253 ; 
her  maid,  Bessy  Barnet.  ii.  253,  254 
and  note,  257 ;  Mrs.  Montagu  and,  ii. 
270;  Mrs.  Hunt  and,  ii.  270;  acci- 
dent to,  ii.  274. 

Carlyle,  Jean  (sister  of  T.  Carlyle),  her 
character,  ii.  219;  marries  James 
Aitken,  ii.  219;  her  household,  ii. 
223. 

Carlyle,  John  Aitken  (brother  of  Thom- 
as Carlyle),  i.  26.  44;  his  studies,  i. 
80 ;  resides  with  T.  Carlyle  in  Moray 
Street,  i.  97 ;  his  sobriquet  of  "  Lord 
Moon,"  i.  122,  227  note;  at  Comely 
Bank,  i.  221 ;  sent  to  Germany  by  his 
brother,  i.  241,  242;  at  Munich,  ii. 
15;  returns  from  Germany,  ii.  34; 
goes  to  London,  but  fails  to  obtain 
employment,  ii.  36 ;  contemplates  a 
literary  life,  ii.  66 ;  advice  from  his 
brother,  ii.  66 ;  with  Irving  in  Lon- 
don, ii.  70 ;  hankers  after  magazine 


writing,  ii.  83;  cautioned  against  it 
by  his  brother,  ii.  83 ;  receives  pe- 
cuniary help  from  Jeffrey,  ii.  104; 
appointed  travelling  physician  to 
Countess  of  Clare,  ii.  104;  his  sal- 
ary, ii.  104 ;  accompanies  Lady  Clare 
to"  Italy,  ii.  118;  at  Rome,  ii.  141; 
his  brother's  counsel,  ii.  141, 151 ;  at 
Naples,  ii.  159;  his  prosperous  cir- 
cumstances, ii.  160;  pays  off  his 
debts  to  Jeffrey  and  to  his  brother, 
ii.  163, 173  note;  at  Florence,  ii.  199 ; 
returns  to  Scotland,  and  visits  T. 
Carlyle  at  Craigenputtock,  ii.  203 ; 
returns  with  Lady  Clare  to  Italy,  ii. 
206 ;  'his  prosperity  there,  ii.  265 ;  a 
remittance  to  his  mother,  ii.  265. 

Carlyle,  John  of  Cockennouth  (half- 
brother  of  T.  Carlyle),  ii.  147  ;  at  his 
father's  funeral,  ii.  149. 

Carlyle,  Margaret  (mother  of  Thomas 
Carlyle),  her  marriage,  i.  5 ;  first  letter 
to  her  son,  i.  26;  severe  mental  ill- 
ness, i.  27 ;  alarm  at  Carlyle's  opin- 
ions, i.  35;  her  estimate  of  "Wilhelm 
Meister,"  i.  128, 129 ;  Carlyle's  affec- 
tion for,  i.  134, 135 ;  her  visit  to  him 
at  Comely  Bank,  i.  246 ;  her  anxious 
cares  for  her  children,  ii.  141 ;  death 
of  her  husband,  ii.  143 ;  provided  for 
by  his  will,  ii.  158;  her  range  of 
reading,  ii.  186,  238 ;  her  last  visit 
to  Craigenputtock,  ii.  247 ;  her  forti- 
tude on  parting  with  her  son,  ii.  247. 

Carlyle,  Margaret  (sister  of  T.  Carlyle), 
her  character,  ii.  35;  shows  symp- 
toms of  consumption,  ii.  35;  visits 
Craigenputtock,  ii.  35 ;  her  last  ill- 
ness and  death,  ii.  62-65. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  ancestors  of,  i.  1 ; 
birth  of,  at  Ecclefechan,  i.  2;  his  fa- 
ther and  grandfather,  i.  3 ;  sent  to 
village  school,  i.  5 ;  his  boyhood,  i.  6 ; 
character  of  his  parents,  i.  6 ;  his 
progress  in  "figures"  and  Latin,  i. 
8;  at  Annan  grammar-school,  i.  8; 
school  recollections)  i.  9, 10 ;  sees  Ir- 
ving for  first  time,  i.  10;  his  awe 
of  his  father,  i.  11 ;  journey  to  Edin- 
burgh, i.  13;  first  impressions  of  Ed- 
inburgh, i.  13,  14;  enters  the  Uni- 
versity, i.  14";  his  course  of  study,  i. 


INDEX. 


14;  his  progress,  i.  15;  failure  in 
prize-taking,  i.  15 ;  influence  on  fel- 
low-students, i.  17;  letters  from 

Hill  ("Peter  Pindar"),  i.  17,  18; 
seeks  pupils,  i.  19 ;  elected  as  math- 
ematical tutor  at  Annan,  i.  19;  un- 
congenial life  there,  i.  19 ;  his  new 
home  at  Mainhill,  i.  20 ;  correspond- 
ence with  T.Murray,  i.  21;  first  meet- 
ing with  Irving,  i.  22,  23 ;  pursues 
divinity  course,  i.  23 ;  his  first  ser- 
mon, i.  23;  appointed  to  school  at 
Kirkcaldy,  i.  23;  friendship  with 
Irving  there,  i.  24;  correspondence 
with  members  of  his  family,  i.  24- 
27;  first  extant  letter  from  his  fa- 
ther, i.  25 ;  his  dislike  of  teaching,  i. 
27 ;  his  friends  at  Kirkcaldy,  i.  27 ; 
friendship  with  Miss  Gordon,  i.  29 ; 
abandons  the  idea  of  entering  the 
ministry,  i.  30 ;  displeases  Kirkcaldy 
burghers,  i.  30 ;  resignation  of  mas- 
tership, i.  31 ;  removes  to  Edin- 
burgh, i.  31 ;  studies  law,  i.  32  ;  ma- 
ternal counsels,  L  32 ;  first  attack  of 
dyspepsia,  i.  33 ;  takes  pupils,  i.  34 ; 
religious  doubts  and  mental  strug- 
gles, i.  36 ;  attends  Hume's  lectures, 
i.  36 ;  disgust  with  study  of  law,  i. 
36 ;  religious  doubts,  i.  37 ;  home  to 
Mainhill,  i.  38 ;  distress  of  his  par- 
ents, i.  38;  letter  from  Irving,  i.  38; 
returns  to  Edinburgh,  advice  from 
Irving,  i.  42,  45, 51 ;  severe  dyspep- 
sia, i.  44 ;  visit  to  Irving  at  Glasgow, 
i.  48 ;  return  to  Ecclefechan,  i.  49 ; 
commences  study  of  German  litera- 
ture, i.  51 ;  encouragement  from  Sir 
D.  Brewster  and  Tait,  i.  53 ;  visit  to 
Irving  at  Glasgow,  i.  55;  offers  to 
translate  Schiller  for  booksellers,  i. 
55 ;  offer  from  Captain  Basil  Hall,  i. 
55 ;  end  of  gloomy  period,  i.  56 ;  con- 
solatory letters  from  Irving,  i.  56, 57; 
his  "  new  birth,"  i.  58 ;  visit  to  Had- 
dington  and  introduction  to  Miss 
Welsh,  i.  73,  74;  corresponds  with 
her,  i.  74 ;  range  of  his  studies,  i.  74 ; 
reads  Schiller  and  Goethe,  i.  75 ; 
adopts  literature  as  a  profession,  i. 
75;  his  admiration  for  Schiller's 
character  and  writings,  i.  75;  stud- 


ies Goethe's  works,  i.  76 ;  his  opin- 
ion of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  i.  76  ; 
letters  from  Irving  respecting  Miss 
Welsh's  German  studies,  i.  76,  77 ; 
summer  at  Mainhill,  i.  78;  writes  for 
Brewster,  i.  79;  returns  to  Edin- 
burgh,, i.  79;  care  for  his  brother 
John,  i.  80;  accepts  tutorship  in 
Buller  family,  i.  81 ;  at  work  with 
his  pupils,  i.  83 ;  their  characters,  i. 
83 ;  literary  projects,  i.  84,  85 ;  liter- 
ary correspondence  with  Miss  Welsh, 
i.  86 ;  introduction  to  proprietor  of 
London  Magazine,  i.  92 ;  his  contri- 
butions accepted,  i.  92 ;  happy  with 
his  pupils,  i.  93,  95;  finishes  trans- 
lation of  Legendre,  i.  93 ;  hopes  and 
fears,  i.  93 ;  sleeplessness,  i.  94 ;  a 
dog  story,  i.  94 ;  makes  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Buller,  i.  95;  his 
opinion  of  them,  i.  96 ;  considerately 
treated  by  them,  L  96;  visits  Main- 
hill,  i.  97 ;  "  midnight  smokes"  with 
his  mother,  i.  97 ;  her  distress  about 
his  spiritual  state,  i.  97 ;  Carlyle's 
letter  thereon,  i.  97 ;  his  mode  of  life 
at  the  Bullers',  i.  98;  twenty-seventh 
birthday,  i.  98 ;  ill-success  in  poeti- 
cal composition,  i.  99 ;  verses  on  bat- 
tle of  Morgarten,  i.  99 ;  verses  on 
Miss  Welsh,  i.  99;  begins  Life  of 
Schiller,  i.  100;  his  impressions  of 
MacCulloch,  of  the  Scotsman,  i.  101 ; 
his  sister  Jane,  i.  101 ;  begins  trans- 
lation of  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  i.  102 ; 
joins  the  Bullers  at  Kinnaird  House 
— his  life  there,  i.  103 ;  relations 
with  Miss  Welsh,  i.  103;  effects  of 
dyspepsia,  i.  105;  translation  of 
"Meister,"  i.  105;  life  at  Kinnaircl, 
i.  106 ;  first  sight  of  people  of  fash- 
ion— his  opinion  of  them,  i.  107 ;  on 
Irving's  book  on  Last  Judgment,  i. 
108 ;  contrasts  his  lot  with  Irving's, 
i.  109 ;  renewed  restlessness,  i.  110, 
111;  Life  of  Schiller,  i.  112;  on 
character  of  Schiller,  i.  112;  on 
Kant's  philosophy,  i.  113 ;  the  motto 
"  Terar  dum  prosim,"  i.  113;  de- 
spondency, L  114;  effects  of  mer- 
cury, i.  li6;  farewell  to  old  year,  i. 
116;  sufferings  from  bad  medical 


INDEX. 


285 


treatment,  i.  116,  117;  uncertain 
prospects,  i.  118;  invitation  from 
Irving,  i.  118;  on  value  of  a  profes- 
sion, advice  to  his  brother  John,  i. 
118,  119 ;  Irving's  expectations  for 
him,  i.  120;  return  to  Edinburgh,  i. 
120;  marriage  prospects,  i.  121;  re- 
muneration for  "  Wilhelm  Meister," 
i.  122 ;  estimate  of  that  work,  i.  122 ; 
life  and  work  at  Mainhill,  i.  123;  on 
death  of  Lord  Byron,  i,  124;  range 
of  his  reading,  i.  124 ;  sails  from 
Leith,  i.  125;  account  of  voyage,  i. 
125;  first  impression  of  London  and 
its  society,  i.  126 ;  Mrs.  Strachey,  i. 
126 ;  Miss  Kirkpatrick,  i.  127  ;  Mrs. 
Montagu,  i.  127;  his  opinions  of 
Procter  (Barry  Cornwall),  Allan  Cun- 
ningham, and  T.  Campbell,  i.  127 ; 
portrait  of  Coleridge,  i.  128 ;  sends 
"  Wilhelm  Meister  "  to  Mainhill,  its 
reception  there,  i.  128, 129 ;  removes 
to  Kew  Green,  i.  129;  leaves  the 
Bullers  and  returns  to  London,  i. 
130;  meets  Mr.  Badams,  i.  132 ;  vis- 
its him  at  Birmingham,  i.  133;  his 
impressions  of  Birmingham,  i.  134 ; 
medically  treated  by  Mr.  Badams, 
i.  135;  invitation  to  Dover  from 
the  Stracheys,  i.  135;  his  friend- 
ship for  Mrs.  Strachey,  i.  135 ; 
leaves  Birmingham,  i.  136;  at  Strat- 
ford-OH -Avon,  i.  137;  at  Oxford, 
i.  137 ;  offers  to  board  with  Irving  at 
Pentonville,  i.  137, 138 ;  visits  Dover, 
i.  139 ;  the  party  at  Dover,  i.  139 ;  on 
agriculture  and  peasantry  in  Kent,  i. 
141 ;  humorous  sketches  of  Irving,  i. 
141, 148,  149 ;  visit  to  Paris  decided 
on,  i.  142;  route  taken,  i.  142;  impres- 
sions of,  i.  142, 144 ;  visits  Legendre, 
i.  142,  145 ;  at  the  Morgue,  i.  142 ; 
sketch  of  Cuvier  and  his  lecture,  i. 
145 ;  at  the  Palais  Royal,  i.  144 ;  pre- 
sented to  Dupinand  other  French  sa- 
vants, L 145;  excitement  at  Mainhill 
about  French  journey,!.  145;  returns 
to  London,  i.  146 ;  prospects  as  a  man 
ofletters,  L146;  his  bad  opinion  of  his 
Life  of  Schiller,  i.  147 ;  Goethe's  judg- 
ment of  it,  i.  147 :  invitation  from  Al- 
len, of  York,  to  reside  with  him  at 


Epping  Forest,  i.  149 ;  London  expe- 
riences, i.  149,  150;  letters  to  Miss 
Welsh,  i.  151-154 ;  views  for  the  fut- 
ure, i.  152;  his  antipathy  to  London 
men  ofletters,  i.  154 ;  first  letter  from 
Goethe,  i.  154 ;  purposes  farming  at 
Craigenputtock,  i.  157;  but  dissuaded 
byMiss  Welsh,  i.  160 ;  correspondence 
with  her,  i.157-169 ;  impatience  with 
London,  i.  170 ;  "  seven  years  of  pain," 
i.  171 ;  on  booksellers,  i.  172;  "  Ger- 
man Romance  "  projected,  i.  172 ;  re- 
turns to  Annandale,  i.  172 ;  removes 
to  Hoddam  Hill,  i.173;  life  there,  i. 
174-176;  work  at  "German  Ro- 
mance," i.  174;  letters  from  Mrs. 
Montagu,  i.  177;  Miss  Welsh's  con- 
fession, i.  179 ;  her  visit  to  Hoddam, 
i.  179 ;  coterie  speech  in  Carlyle  fam- 
ily, i.  184;  as  a  horseman,  i.  186 
note;  his  sister  Jean,  i.  186;  poem 
on  "My  own  Four  Walls,"  i.  189; 
visits  Irving  at  Annan,  i.  190; 
leaves  Hoddam  Hill,  i.  191 ;  removes 
to  Scotsbrig,  i.  191,  192;  spiritual 
deliverance,  i.  192;  time  of  mar- 
riage fixed,  i.  193 ,  plans  for  settle- 
ment, i.  195;  "nauseous  intruders," 
i.  196;  proposes  settling  at  Scots- 
brig,  i.  199 ;  Jhe  marriage  treaty,  i. 
196-205;  Wightman  the  hedger,  i. 
205;  preparations  for  marriage,  i. 
205-208 ;  tries  to  read  Kant's  "  Kri- 
tik,"  i.  210 ;  married  in  Templand 
church,  i.  212 ;  arrival  at  Comely 
Bank.  i.  212 ;  beginning  of  married 
life,  i,  214;  despondency,  i.  215; 
commences  a  novel,  i.  215, 221 ;  wide 
course  of  reading,  i.  215,216;  criti- 
cism of  various  Elizabethan  writers, 
i.  216 ;  his  opinion  of  Scott  and  By- 
ron, i.  216 ;  on  Herder's  "  Ideen," 
and  Alison's  "Essay  on  Taste,"  i. 
216,  217;  on  political  economy,  i. 
218;  economic  prospects,  i.  219 ;  life 
and  society  at  Comely  Bank,  i.  220 ; 
projects  a  literary  "Annual  Regis- 
ter," i.  219 ;  letters  home,  i.  220-222 ; 
receives  introduction  to  Jeffrey,  i. 
222;  his  conversational  powers,  i. 
223;  on  hnmor,  i.  224;  absence  of 
malice,  i.  224;  bis  novel  a  failure,  L 


INDEX. 


225 ;  resolves  on  settling  at  Craigen- 
puttock,  i.  226;  prospects  brighten, 
i.  228;  introduction  to  Jeffrey,  i. 
228;  Jeffrey's  recognition  of  his 
qualities,  i.  228,  229 ;  contributes  to 
Edinburgh  Review,  i.  229 ;  his  essay 
on  Richter,  i.  230;  his  style,  when 
formed,  i.  231;  visits  John  Wilson 
(Christopher  North),  i.  231;  letter 
and  present  from  Goethe,  i.  232 ;  ar- 
ticle on  German  literature,  Goethe's 
inquiry  respecting,  i.  237;  with  Jef- 
frey at  Craigcrook,  i.  237;  visit  to 
Dumfriesshire,  i.  238;  letter  from 
Irving,  i.  239 ;  consults  Jeffrey  about 
professorship,  i.  240;  recommended 
to  Lord  Brougham,  i.  241 ;  but  with 
no  result,  i.  241;  sends  his  brother 
to  Germany  at  own  cost,  i.  241,  242 ; 
his  estimate  of  De  Qiiincey,  i.  242 ; 
hopes  of  professorship  at  St.  An- 
drew's, i.  243 ;  efforts  of  his  friends, 
i.  243;  testimonials  from  Jeffrey, 
Goethe,  Irving,  and  Brewster,  i. 
243 ;  from  Sir  J.  Leslie,  i.  243,  244 ; 
fails  to  obtain  professorship,  i.  245; 
visit  from  his  mother,  i.  246;  jour- 
ney of  insp:ction  to  Craigenputtock, 
i.  250;  visit  from  his  sister  Jean,  i. 
250;  Goethe's  insight  into  his  tem- 
perament, i.  252;  presents  from 
Goethe,  i.  252 ;  leaves  Comely  Bank, 
and  goes  to  live  at  Craigenputtock, 
i.  252;  Goethe  on  his  genius,  ii.  1 ; 
maturity  of  his  powers,  ii.  1 ;  his  re- 
ligion, Calvinism  without  theology, 
ii.  1,  2 ;  on  miracles,  ii.  2 ;  "  gospel  of 
force,"  ii.  4 ;  on  "  spiritual  optics,"  ii. 
5;  on  intolerance,  ii.  5;  on  the  char- 
acter of  the  Jews,  ii.  9;  letter  to 
George  A.  Duncan  on  Prayer,  ii.  12 ; 
removes  to  Craigenputtock,  ii.  14, 
15;  early  days  there,  ii,  15;  on  Ir- 
ving's  preaching,  ii.  17 ;  his  essay  on 
Burns,  ii,  18;  Jeffrey's  friendliness 
and  esteem,  ii.  19;  letter  from 
Charles  Buller,  ii.  20;  editorial  dis- 
pute with  Jeffrey,  ii.  23 ;  Goethe 
and  essay  on  Burns,  ii.  22,  23  ;  visit 
from  the  Jeffreys  at  Craigenputtock, 
ii.  24;  visit  from  his  father,  ii.  26; 
his  two  horses,  ii.  26 ;  anecdote  of 


pony  and  sow,  ii.  26  note;  winter 
life,  ii.  28;  learns  Spanish,  ii.  28; 
visit  from  H.  Inglis,  it.  28 ;  deaths 
of  neighbors,  ii.  28, 29;  essay  on  Vol- 
taire, ii.  30 ;  on  functions  of  revolu- 
tion, ii.  31;  his  "  Reminiscences  of 
Lord  Jeffrey,"  ii.  33  ;  suggested  edi- 
torship of  Edinburgh  Revine,  ii.  33  ; 
his  "  Signs  of  the  Times,"  ii.  34 ;  his 
sister  Margaret,  her  character,  ii.  35 ; 
her  illness,  ii.  35 ;  her  visit  to  Craig- 
enputtock,  ii.  35 ;  refuses  offered  an- 
nuity from  Jeffrey,  ii.  36,  47;  en- 
couraging letter  to  John  Carlyle,  ii. 
38 ;  severe  illness  of  his  wife,  ii.  39 ; 
his  father's  ill-health,  ii.  39 ;  tragical 
death  of  a  neighbor,  ii.  39;  letter  of 
"Vox  "  in  Dumfries  Courier,  ii.  39; 
extracts  from  journal,  ii.  41 ;  on  poli- 
tics, institutions,  and  the  understand- 
ing, ii.  44:  on  waste  lands,  and  on 
quacks,  ii.  44;  on  political  philoso- 
phy, ii.  45;  on  Utilitarianism,  ii.  45; 
on  religion  and  quarrels,  ii.  46; 
doubts  as  to  his  love  of  poetry,  ii. 
46;  his  "History  of  German  Litera- 
ture," ii.  47;  on  Scott's  ''History  of 
Scotland,"  ii.  50 ;  on  Silence,  ii.  52 ; 
first  sketch  of  "  Sartor  Resartus,"  ii. 
53;  financial  straits,  ii.  55;  on  rela- 
tion of  moral  to  poetic  genius,  ii.  56; 
his  "  Teufelsdrockh  "  refused  by  edi- 
tors, ii.  57 ;  contemplates  a  "  Life  of 
Luther,"  ii.  57 ;  intended  visit  to 
German}'  not  carried  out,  ii.  58;  at- 
tempt at  book  on  German  literature, 
ii.  58 ;  letter  from  Goethe,  with  pres- 
ent, ii.  60;  illness  and  death  of  his 
sister  Margaret,  ii.  62;  coolness  of 
editors  and  publishers,  ii.  66;  fin- 
ishes "  History  of  German  Litera- 
ture," ii.  69 ;  his  brother  Alick  leaves 
him,  ii.  70,  71 ;  money  help  to  his 
brothers,  ii.  71;  pecuniary  needs,  ii. 
71 ;  battle  with  the  nettles,  ii.  71 
note ;  his  Radicalism,  ii.  71 ;  second 
visit  of  the  Jeffreys,  ii.  72;  his 
analysis  of  Jeffrey's  talent  and  char- 
acter, ii.  73;  on  emigration,  ii.  80 ;  his 
means  improve,  ii.  81 ;  literary  pros- 
pects, ii.  81 ;  resolves  to  visit  Lon- 
don, ii.  82 ;  on  character  of  Brough- 


INDEX. 


287 


am,  ii.  83 ;  advice  to  his  brother  ! 
agaiHSt  magazine  writing,  ii.  84 ;  re- 
views Taylor's  "  Survey  of  German  ] 
Poetry,"  ii.  87 ;  death  of  his  horse 
Larry,  it.  87;  bad  prospects,  anil 
despondency,  ii.88 ;  consolation  from 
Jeffrey,  ii.  88 ;  the  progress  of  "  Sar- 
tor Resartus,"  ii.  90;  its  completion, 
ii.  92 ;  accepts  loan  from  Jeffrey,  ii. 
93 ;  his  visit  to  London,  ii.  93  ;  com- 
pared to  Parson  Adams,  ii.  93;  jour- 
ney to  Liverpool,  ii.  94;  arrival  in 
London,  ii.  94;  villany  of  coach 
agents,  ii.  95 ;  visits  Jeffrey,  ii.  96 ; 
sends  "Sartor"  to  John  Murray,  ii. 
96;  offers  "German  Literature"  to 
Longmans,  ii.  97;  visit  to  Mrs. 
Strachey,  ii.  97;  encounter  with 
"little  Button," ii.  98  ;  visits  Irving, 
ii.98;  his  description  of  Godwin  and 
Bowring,  ii.  98 ;  at  House  of  Com- 
mons, ii.  100;  impatience  with  Mur- 
ray, ii.  100;  death  of  his  friend 
Badams,  ii.  101;  talk  with  Irving, 
ii.  102;  at  dinner  with  Henry  Drum- 
naoiul,  ii.  102 ;  "  Sartor"  declined  by 
Murray,  and  offered  to  Longmans,  ii. 
103;  his  brother's  appointment  as 
physician,  ii.  104;  his  contempt  for 
"  literary  men,"  ii.  108 ;  "  Sartor " 
refused  by  Colburn  and  Bentley,  ii. 
Ill;  correspondence  with  Murray 
respecting,  ii.  112, 113 ;  Hurray  final- 
ly declines  it,  ii.  113 ;  writes  paper 
on  "Characteristics,"  ii.  114;  arrival 
of  his  wife  in  London,  ii.  118;  his 
London  lodgings,  ii.  118;  his  harsh 
estimate  of  Lamb,  ii.  122;  his  fears 
for  Irving,  ii.  12."),  128  ;  remonstrates 
with  him,  ii.  125;  visit  from  Irving, 
ii.  127, 128 ;  renews  intercourse  with 
Buller  family,  ii.  125 ;  his  great  liking 
for  Charles  Buller,  ii.  120 ;  on  agnos- 
tic doctrines,  ii.  126 ;  remarks  on  the 
cholera,  ii.  128, 131 ;  finishes  "  Char- 
acteristics," ii.  133 ;  contributes  to 
the  A  thenceum,  ii.  134 ;  evening  with 
Hayward,  ii.  134 ;  visits  Dr.  John- 
son's house,  ii.  134  ;  dinner-party  at 
Eraser's,  ii.  135, 153  ;  letter  from  C. 
Buller,  ii.  137 ;  his  father's  illness, 
and  last  letter,  ii.  138,  139 ;  lib  last 


letter  to  his  father,  ii.  139 ;  manner  of 
communicating  with  his  family,  ii. 
139  note;  his  mode  of  life  in  London, 
ii.  140;  calls  on  Bulwer,  ii,  143;  his 
gratitude  to  Hayward,  ii,  143 ;  death 
of  his  father,  ii.  146;  his  memoir  of, 
ii.  144;  consolatory  letters  to  his 
mother,  ii.  145,  148;  his  half-brother 
John,ofCockermouth,  ii.  147;  rever- 
ence for  his  father's  memory,  ii.  14rt; 
reflections  on  death,  ii.  150 ;  counsels 
to  his  brother  John,  ii.  151 ;  acknowl- 
edges deep  indebtedness  to  German 
writers,  ii.  152;  results  of  the  Lon- 
don visit,  ii.  152;  brightening  pros- 
pects, ii.  152;  reviews  Crokers 
"  Life  of  Johnson,"  for  Fraser,  ii.  153 ; 
his  scornful  temper  with  editors,  ii. 
153;  his  attitude  towards  literary 
London,  ii.  153;  return  to  Scotland, 
ii.  154;  stay  at  Liverpool,  ii.  154 ; 
his  self-absorption,  ii.  154;  trans- 
lates "  Das  Miihrchen,"  ii.  155 ;  re- 
sumes work  at  Craigenputtock,  ii. 
156;  homage  and  sympathy  from 
Mill,  ii.  159 ;  a  round  of  visits  in  An- 
nandale,  ii.  161 ;  on  names  of  streets, 
ii.  163;  feels  want  of  libraries  and 
books,  ii.  164;  at  Tcmpland,  ii.  164; 
feeling  of  supernaturalism,  ii.  165 ; 
life  on  the  moor,  ii.  173;  details  of 
work,  ii.  173 ;  dissatisfied  with  his 
Goethe  article,  ii.  174,  175;  reads 
Diderot's  works,  ii.  174, 175 ;  lets  the 
Craigenputtock  shooting,  ii.  174;  a 
tour  into  Galloway,  ii.  176 ;  at  Dum- 
fries as  juryman,  ii.  181 ;  repays  Jef- 
frey's loan,  ii.  181 ;  finishes  Diderot 
article,  ii.  181;  visit  to  Annandale, 
ii.  181, 182;  thoughts  about  Jeffrey, 
ii.  183 ;  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  ii.  189 ; 
studies  French  Revolution  litera- 
ture, ii.  190 ;  his  criticism  of  Thiers's 
History,  ii.  190  note;  assisted  by 
Mill,  ii.  190;  Edinburgh  society  less 
congenial  than  that  of  London,  ii. 
190;  unfortunate  as  to  lodgings,  ii. 
190;  his  Edinburgh  friends,  ii. 
192,196;  his  discontent  with  Edin- 
burgh, ii.  195-202;  his  alternations 
of  belief  and  disbelief,  ii.  202,  207; 
thoughts  of  London  as  a  dwelling- 


INDEX. 


place,  ii.  202 ;  returns  to  the  moors, 
ii.  202;  "Sartor  Resartus"  in  print, 
ii.  203 ;  return  of  John  Carlyle  from 
Italy,  his  visit  to  Craigenputtock,  ii. 
203;  self-examination,  ii.  203 ;  self- 
accusation  of  vanity,  ii.  204;  the 
mouse  in  the  porridge,  ii.  205 ;  visit 
from  Emerson,  ii.  208 ;  close  corre- 
spondence with  Mill,  ii.  210 ;  its  nat- 
ure, ii.  211 ;  his  religious  views,  ii. 
211 ;  unfavorable  literary  prospects, 
ii.  212, 218 ;  verses  on  Crichope  Linn, 
ii.  212,  213 ;  spiritual  restlessness,  ii. 
215, 216 ;  neglected  by  editors,  ii.  216 
note ;  uses  library  at  Barjarg,  ii.  216 ; 
quality  of  his  verse,  ii.  216  note; 
marriage  of  his  sister  Jean,  ii.  219 ; 
his  anxiety  for  his  mother,  ii.  219; 
a  tour  in  Annandale,  ii.  221 ;  assists 
an  old  friend,  ii.  221;  his  thirty- 
eighth  birthday,  ii.  226 ;  bad  pros- 
pects, ii.  227 ;  his  mathematical  abil- 
ity, ii.  228 ;  applies  to  Jeffrey  re- 
specting Astronomy  professorship, 
ii.  228, 230 ;  his  application  declined, 
ii.  228 ;  his  resentment  against  Jef- 
frey, ii.  228 ;  his  great  arrogance,  ii. 
229 ;  its  quality,  ii.  229 ;  his  last  at- 
tempt at  obtaining  office,  ii.  234, 236 ; 
thoughts  as  to  settlement  in  Amer- 
ica, ii.  234;  his  financial  position,  ii. 
235 ;  his  kindness  to  William  Glen, 
ii.  235 ;  learns  Greek  with  Glen,  ii. 
235;  studies  Homer,  ii.  236;  his 
opinion  of,  ii.  236,  237 ;  on  the  char- 
actersin  Homer,  ii.  237;  first  thoughts 
of  London,  ii.  237;  last  winter  at 
Craigenputtock,  ii.  238,  241 ;  agrees 
to  contribute  to  a  new  Radical  Re- 
view, ii.  239 ;  resolves  to  remove  to 
London,  ii.  240,  241 ;  "  burning  of 
the  ships,"  ii.  241,  242;  journeys 
alone  to  London,  house-seeking,  ii. 
242;  his  mental  wealth,  ii.  243;  his 
"  History  of  the  French  Revolution," 
ii.  243;  his  poem  "Cui  Bono?"  ii. 
245;  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Answer  to  this, 
ii.  245 ;  his  verses  "  The  Sigh,"  ii. 
245;  his  sketch  of  Old  Esther,  ii. 
246 ;  partings  with  his  relatives,  ii. 
247 ;  arrival  in  London,  ii.  248 ; 
house-hunting,  ii.  248, 219 ;  meeting 


with  Irving,  ii.  248 ;  a  frugal  dinner, 
ii.  248;  his  description  of  Cheyne 
Row,  and  house  in  it,  ii.  249;  futile 
efforts  to  see  Irving,  ii.250;  London 
friends,  ii.  250,  251 ;  his  final  visit  to 
Jeffrey,  ii.  251;  successful  visit  to 
Irving,  ii.  253;  arrival  of  his  wife 
from  Scotland,  ii.  253;  removes  to 
house  at  Cheyne  Row,  ii.  253 ;  the 
drive  from  Ampton  Street,  ii.  253, 
254  and  note;  resumes  studies  on 
French  Revolution,  ii. 254;  his  friend- 
ship with  Leigh  Hunt  and  family, 
ii.  256;  uncertain  humors  and  re- 
newed despondency,  ii.  258,  259 ;  his 
friends,  ii.  259;  an  Irishman  from 
Cork,  ii.  259 ;  recognition  from  Em-  ' 
erson,  ii.  260;  disappointment  re- 
specting new  Radical  Review,  ii. 
260 ;  his  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  ii. 
261 ;  Annan  friends  in  London,  ii. 
264  note ;  the  Cheyne  Row  commis- 
sariat, ii.  265, 266 ;  repaid  money  ad- 
vanced to  his  brother,  ii.  265 ;  daily 
habits,  ii.  267 ;  at  burning  of  Parlia- 
ment Houses,  ii.  267 ;  sketch  of  Miss 
Miles,  ii.  268,  273;  at  a  Radical 
meeting,  ii.  269 ;  on  public  speaking, 
ii.  269 ;  his  account  of  Irving's  fare- 
well visit  and  death,  ii.  271 ;  letter 
to  his  mother  respecting  Irving's 
life  and  character,  ii.  271 ;  his  article 
on,  in  Fraser,  ii.  272;  Ruskin's 
saying  respecting,  ii.  277 ;  his  labors 
on  the  "French  Revolution," ii. 278; 
various  aspects  of  his  life  and  char- 
acter, ii.  274-279. 

Cat  linns,  Alex.  Carlyle's  farm  at,  ii. 
161, 172  note,  223, 225. 

Chalmers,  Dr.,  i.  40, 43, 47, 48 ;  Carlyle's 
opinion  of,  i.  49, 57, 80, 243. 

"  Characteristics,"  finished,  ii.  133 ;  sent 
to  Napier,  ii.  142;  its  text,  ii.  142; 
Mill's  estimate  of,  ii.  142 ;  accepted 
by  Napier,  ii.  143 ;  warmly  received, 
ii.  155 ;  admired  bv  a  tailor  at  Thoru- 
hill,  ii.  165. 

Charles  X.,i.  142,145. 

Chateaubriand,  i.  217. 

Chelsea,  description  of,  ii.  249, 250. 

Cheyne  Row,  Carlyle's  description  of. 
fifty  years  ago,  ii.  249, 254 ;  his  house 


INDEX. 


289 


in,  ii.  249 ;  he  removes  to,  ii.  253 ; 
"  raising  reek  "  in,  ii.  253,  254  note ; 
garden  at,  ii.  253. 

Chico,  the  canary-bird,  ii.  242, 253,  254 
and  note. 

Cholera,  the,  in  England,  ii.  128;  its 
effects  on  people's  minds  and  on 
trade,  ii.  128 ;  at  Sunderland,  ii.  129 ; 
apprehensions  respecting,  ii.  131; 
Jeffrey  on,  ii.  134 ;  at  Carlisle,  ii.  163, 
166, 170 ;  ravages  by,  at  Dumfries,  ii. 
166  note,  185 ;  a  Catholic  priest  and, 
ii.  166  note;  spreading  in  the  north, 
ii.  170;  four  carriers  die  of,  ii.  170; 
its  subsidence,  ii.  185 ;  at  Penpont, 
near  Templand,  ii.  205. 

Clare,  Countess  of,  engages  John  Car- 
lylc  as  travelling  physician,  ii.  104; 
her  character,  ii.  105;  her  husband, 
ii.  105;  her  return  to  England,  ii. 
199. 

Clothes,  ii.  49 ;  essay  on,  ii.  53 ;  philos- 
ophy of,  ii.  74, 75. 

Coach  agents,  villany  of,  ii.  94, 95. 

Cockneys,  ignorance  of,  ii.  131. 

Colburn  and  Bent  ley,  the  publishers, 
refuse  "  Sartor  Resartus,"  ii.  111. 

Coleridge,  i.  128 ;  mot  of  Lamb  respect- 
ing, i.  128 ;  portrait  of,  by  Carlyle,  i. 
128,146,153,170. 

Comely  Bank,  house  at,  taken,  i.  193; 
description  of,  i.  205 ;  life  and  society 
at,  i.  218, 219, 221 ;  Wednesday  even- 
ings at,  i.  222 ;  the  Carl  vies  leave 
for  Craigenputtock,  i.  252. 

Corn-law  rhymes,  article  on,  ii.  158. 

Coterie  speech  in  Carlyle  family,  i.  184. 

Craigcrook.  i.  237. 

Craigenputtock,  i.  6 1 ;  laird  of.  and  the 
dragoons,  i.  6"2;  Carlyle  purposes 
farming  at.  i.  1">7 ;  finally  resolves  on 
settling  at,  i.  226 ;  the  Carlyles'  visit 
of  inspection  to,  i.250;  their  removal 
to,  i.  252 ;  description  of,  ii.  14 ;  its 
inclement  climate,  ii.  14 ;  aversion  of 
Mrs.  Carlyle  to,  ii.  14;  the  Carlyles 
remove  to,  ii.  14,  15;  early  days  at, 
ii.  15;  its  interior,  ii.  21;  Jeffrey  at, 
ii.  24;  view  of.  engraved  at  Frank- 
fort, ii.  53;  Alick  Carlyle  leaves, 
ii.  70 ;  a  "  blasted  Paradise,"  ii.  72 ; 
the  shooting  of,  let,  ii.  133,  210 ;  vio- 
II.— 13 


lent  storms  at,  ii.  225 ;  gloom  and 
stillness  of,  ii.  245. 

Crawford,  John,  as  a  public  speaker,  ii. 
269. 

Crichhope  Linn,  verses  on,  ii.  213. 

"Cui  Bono?"  Carlyle's  poem,  ii.  245; 
his  wife's  Answer  to,  ii.  245. 

Cunningham,  Allan,  i.  127, 170 ;  ii.  108 ; 
a  "genuine  "  man,  ii.  121,  257,  262. 

Cuvier,  i.  142 ;  his  lecture,  i.  145 ;  Car- 
lyle's sketch  of,  i.  145. 

D'Alembert,  i.  35. 

Descartes,  i.  218. 

Detrosier,  a   Saint  -  Simonian,  ii.  131 

and  note. 

Devil's  Den,  the,  ii.  19, 21, 27. 
Diamond   Necklace,  the,  ii.  190,  200 ; 

article   on,  ii.  202,  204 ;  finished,  ii. 

226 ;  article  on,  refused  at  first  by 

Foreign  Quarterly,  ii.  227. 
Diderot,  essay  on,  ii.  155,  162 ;  article 

on,  ii.  228 ;  Jeffrey's  suspected  resent- 
ment at,  ii.  228. 
Dilke,   C.   W.,  owner    of   AthetKeum, 

reads  MS.  of  "  Sartor  "  at  request  of 

Carlyle,  ii.  134. 
Dissent  and  Dissenters  in  Scotland,  i. 

7. 

Divine  right  of  kings,  ii.  55. 
<f  Don  Quixote,"  ii.  28,  32  ;  quoted,  ii. 

45. 

Dover,  Carlyle's  visit  to,  i.  139. 
Dow  of  Irongray,  ii.  102. 
Drumclog  Moss,  i.  50. 
Drummond,  Henry,  described  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  102 ;  a  dinner  at  his  house, 

ii.  103. 
Dumfries,  ii.  161,  162;  streets  in,  ii. 

163 ;   ravages  of  the  cholera  at,  ii. 

166  note;  185,238. 
Dumfries  Courier,  letter  of  "  Vox  "  to, 

ii.  39. 
Duncan,  G.  A.,  his  correspondence  with 

Carlyle  on  Prayer,  ii.  12. 
Dunscore  Moss,  ii.  165. 
Dupin.  i.  145. 
Dtirer,  Albert,  ii.  257. 
Duverrier  visits  Carlyle,  ii.  131. 

Early  German  Literature,  essay  on,  ii. 
67  note. 


290 


INDEX. 


Ecclefechau,  i.  2;  its  etymology,  i.  2 
note ;  Carlyles  leave  the  town,  i.  19 ; 
Edinburgh,  Carlyle's  first  visit  to,  i. 
13 ;  his  first  impressions  of,  i.  13, 14  ; 
society  in,  i.  190,  195 ;  Carlyle's  dis- 
content with,  i.  195,  200. 

Edinburgh  Review,  i.  42 ;  Carlyle's  ad- 
mission and  first  contribution  to,  i. 
229, 230 ;  his  essay  on  Jean  Paul  in, 
i.  230,  231 ;  ii.  26";  editorship  of,  ii. 
32 ;  Macvey  Napier  appointed  editor, 
ii.  33,  87,  90  note,  126 ;  "  Character- 
istics "  accepted  for,  ii.  143, 155 ;  Car- 
lyle  on,  ii.  184. 

Editors,  function  of,  ii.  133. 

Education,  on,  ii.  132. 

Eichthal,  Gustave  d',  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
friendship  for,  ii.  131. 

Elizabethan  era,  i.  216. 

Elliot,  Ebenezer,  Carlyle's  article  on,  ii. 
155. 

Emerson,  Ralph  W.,  his  visit  to  the 
Carlyles,  ii.  208-210 ;  his  account  of 
Carlyle  and  life  at  Craigenputtock, 
ii.  208;  cordial  letter  from,  ii. 
260. 

Empson,  ii.  88, 104;  described  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  108, 110,  116, 134,  251. 

Engineering,  Carlyle's  thoughts  re- 
specting, ii.  273  and  note. 

England,  the  Church  of,  ii.  42. 

Entsagen,  ii.  172;  its  meaning,  ii.  199; 
Carlyle's  insistence  on,  ii.  211. 

Epictetus,  "Enchiridion"  of,  i.  218. 

Esther,  Old,  Carlyle's  sketch  of,  ii.  246 ; 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  kindness  to,  ii.  247; 
her  death,  ii.  247 ;  a  "  memorandum  " 
of  her,  ii.  247. 

Evil  and  good  inseparable,  ii.  133. 

Examiner  newspaper,  ii.  99, 121. 

Ferrers,  Earl,  ii.  110. 

Fichte,  i.  215. 

Fonblanque,  ii.  99;  described  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  121;  accident  to,  ii.  127;  his 
appearance,  ii.  128. 

Forbes,  Sir  Wm.,  his  "  Life  of  Beattie," 
ii.  236. 

Foreir/n  Quarterly  Review,  i.  237,  238 ; 
ii.  55,  68,  81,  126, 158,  161;  refuses 
article  on  Diamond  Necklace,  ii. 
227. 


Foreign  Review,  the,  i.  237;  ii.  15,  21, 
2t>;  paper  on  Voltaire  in,  ii.  43;  on 
Novalis,  ii.  44,  81. 

Fox,  W.  J.,  appointed  editor  of  a  new 
Radical  Review,  ii.  239,  260;  Car- 
lyle's description  of,  ii.  262 ;  a  "  friend 
of  the  species,"  ii.  268. 

Fraser,  James,  proprietor  of  the  maga- 
zine, ii.  68 ;  his  offer  for  "  Sartor,"  ii. 
193,  sends  Croker's  I3oswell  to  Car- 
lyle, ii.  133;  a  dinner  with,  ii.  135, 
153, 239  ;  his  conversation  with  Car- 
lyle,~ii.  251 ;  his  offer  for  "  History  of 
French  Revolution,"  ii.  254. 

Fruser's  Magazine,  its  contents,  ii.  51; 
"  Sartor"  published  in,  piecemeal,  ii. 
203,  236 ;  Carlyle's  article  on  Irving 
in,  ii.  272. 

Fraser,  William,  his  want  of  punctual- 
ity, ii.  159;  loses  Carlyle's  letters,  ii. 
160. 

French  Revolution,  the,  T.  Carlyle's 
studies  of,  ii.  190,  216,  235,  254,  257, 
259;  his  History  of,  ii.  243;  per- 
plexed by,  ii.  262;  inaccessible  pam- 
phlets on,  in  British  Museum,  ii.  263 ; 
lie  commences  History  of,  ii.  261, 
266,  272. 

"  Friends  of  the  species,"  ii.  268;  their 
households,  ii.  209. 

Galloway,  a  tour  in,  ii.  176. 

Gait,  John,  characterized,  ii.  136, 153. 

Gell,  Sir  William,  ii.  160. 

Genealogy  of  Carlyle  family,  i.  207 
note. 

German  literature,  Carlyle  commences 
study  of,  i.  51. 

German  literature,  Irving's  ideas  on,  i. 
77. 

German  Literature,  Carlyle's  History 
of,  ii.  47,  49;  finished,  ii.  69;  de- 
clined by  Gleig,  ii.  70 ;  recommend- 
ed to  Longmans  by  Jeffrey,  ii.  72; 
instalment  of,  appears  in  Edinburgh 
Review,  ii.  87 ;  declined  by  the  Long- 
mans, ii.  97  ;  to  be  published  in 
"  Cabinet  Encylopaedia,"  ii.  143 ;  but 
comes  to  nothing,  ii.  143. 

"  German  Romance,"  projected,  i.  172 ; 
work  at,  i.  174 ;  finished,  i.  206 ;  in- 
scribed to  James  Carlyle,  i.  220; 


INDEX. 


291 


financially  a  failure,  i.  225;  sent  to 
Goethe,  i.  232. 

Gift  of  tongues,  ii.  102. 

Gigmauia,  ii.  70  note. 

Glasgow,  Radical  rising  in,  i.  41 ;  dis- 
tress in,  i.  48;  Carlyle's  visit  to,  i. 
49. 

Gleig  (afterwards  Chaplain-General), 
ii.68. 

Glen,  William,  ii.  109,  116;  his  eccen- 
tricity, ii.  131,  162 ;  Carlyle's  kind- 
ness to,  ii.  235 ;  teaches  Carlyle 
Greek,  ii.  235,  236;  reads  Homer 
with,  ii.  236. 

Godwin,  William,  ii.  99;  described  by 
Carlyle,  ii.  99 ;  Wollstonecraft's  Life 
by,  i'i.119. 

Goethe,  J.  W.,  Carlyle  studies  his 
works,  i.  76 ;  contrasted  with  Schil- 
ler, i.  76;  his"\Vilhelm  Meister,"  i. 
76;  his  estimate  of  Carlyle's  "Life 
of  Schiller,"  i.  147 ;  first  letter  from, 
Carlyle,  i.  154;  quoted,  i.  215; 
his  "  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit " 
quoted,  i.  218 ;  De  Quincey's  opin- 
ion of,  i.  231;  his  letter  and  gifts 
to  Carlyle,  i.  232-237;  praises 
"Life  of  Schiller,"  i.  232;  sends 
verses  to  Carlyle,  i.  236 ;  writes 
testimonial  to  Carlyle  for  St.  An- 
drew's professorship,  i.  243;  his  in- 
sight into  Carlyle's  temperament,  i. 
251 ;  his  presents  to  Carlyle  and  to 
Sir  W.  Scott,  i.  252 ;  on  the  genius  of 
Carlyle,  ii.  1 ;  sends  medals  to  Sir 
W.  Scott,  ii.  17,  19 ;  article  on,  by 
Carlyle,  in  Foreign  Revieic,  ii.  21 ; 
his  "  Helena,"  ii.  22 ;  translates  Car- 
lyle's "  Essay  on  Burns,"  ii.  22 ;  sends 
the  "ornamented  Schiller TI  to  Car- 
lyle, ii.  53;  his  morality,  ii.  54;  pro- 
posals to  Carlyle  for  a  Life  of,  ii.  57 ; 
letter  to  Carlyle,  with  copies  of  his 
works,  ii.  60;  his  "  Farbenlehre,"  ii. 
59,  60;  lines  to  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  62; 
cautions  Carlyle  respecting  the  St.- 
Simonians,  ii.  79 ;  letter  to  Carlyle, 
ii.  90;  on  good  and  evil,  ii.  133;  Car- 
lyle's indebtedness  to,  ii.  152;  the 
news  of  his  death  reaches  Carlyle  at 
Scotsbrig,  ii.  155;  Carlvle's  article 
"  The  Death  of  Goethc,"'ii.  155, 158  ; 


concluding  article  on,  by  Carlyle  for 
Foreign  (Quarterly,  ii.  155,  158,  161; 
his  "  Italian  Travels,"  ii.  160 ;  quot- 
ed, ii.  166;  his  last  words,  ii.  174; 
Carlyle's  last  present  from,  ii.  187; 
his  estimate  of  Carlyle,  ii.  187 ;  and 
of  Bnlwer,  ii.  187;  the  greatest  of 
contemporary  men,  ii.  217. 

Gordon,  John,  i.  231,  232 ;  ii.  194. 

Gordon,  Margaret,  Carlyle's  friendship 
with,  i.  29;  her  marriage,  i.  29;  origi- 
nal of  Blumine  in  "  Sartor,"  i.  29 ; 
meets  Carlyle  in  London,  i.  29 ;  her 
correspondence  with  him,  i.  29. 

"  Gospel  of  force  "  defined,  ii.  4. 

Graham,  W.,  of  Burnswark,  ii.  141. 

Grey,  Earl,  and  his  followers,  ii.  104. 

Gusting  bone,  a,  ii.  257,  258. 

Haddington,  the  school  at,  i.  68  ;  Irv- 
ing schoolmaster  at,  i.  68, 69. 

Hall,  Captain  Basil,  offer  to  Carlyle 
from,  i.  55. 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  i.  219,  242;  his 
earnestness,  i.  191, 193, 199,  201. 

Hans  Sachs,  i.  156, 157. 

Hatton  Garden  Chapel,  invitation  to 
Irving  from,  i.  81 ;  his  success  there, 
i.  81 ;  the  Duke  of  York  at,  i.  81 ; 
Irving's  appointment  as  minister  of, 
i.81. 

Hayward,  Abraham,  Carlyle's  even- 
ing with,  ii.  134;  urges  Carlylc  to 
write  final  article  on  Goethe,  ii.  143. 
his  service  to  Carlyle,  ii.  143. 

Hazlitt,  i.  153;  Jeffrey's  kindness  to,  ii. 
72;  doubtful  anecdotes  of,  ii.  122. 

Hegel,  death  of,  ii.  143. 

Heine,  i.  215 ;  essay  on,  ii.  21. 

Heraud,  J.  A.,  characterized,  ii.  250. 

Herder,  i.  215 ;  his  "  Ideen,"  i.  217. 

Herschel,  and  Astronomy  professor- 
ship, ii.  231. 

Iloddam  Hill,  the  farm  taken  by  Car- 
lyle, i.  173;  he  removes  thither,  i. 
173 ;  description  of,  i.  174 ;  life  at, 
i.  174, 175,  188 ;  Miss  Welsh  visits, 
i.  179  ;  Carlyle  leaves,  i.  191-193. 

Hogg,  James,  characterized,  ii.  135, 153 ; 
his  vanity,  ii.  136;  Carlyle's  interest 
in,  ii.  136 ;  his  poetic  talent,  ii. 
136. 


293 


INDEX. 


Homer,  Carlyle  on,  ii.  236;  and  his 
studies  of,  "ii.  236,  237 ;  on  the  char- 
acters in  his  works,  ii.  237. 

Honesty,  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of 
Common,  ii.  165. 

Hooker  quoted,  ii.  44. 

Hope,  Adam,  his  friendship  with  Car- 
lyle, i.  23. 

Hope,  David,  anecdote  of,  i,  7. 

Hope,  Thomas,  his  book  on  Man,  ii. 
114. 

House  of  Commons,  Carlyle's  descrip- 
tion of,  ii.  100. 

House  of  Lords,  Carlyle  at,  ii.  110. 

Houses  of  Parliament,  burning  of,  ii. 
267. 

"Hudibras,"i.231. 

Hume,  Joseph,  i.  218 ;  ii.  100. 

Humor,  definition  of,  i.  224. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  i.  153 ;  his  "  Lord  Byron," 
ii.  17. 118 ;  his  household  at  Chelsea, 
ii.  248;  advocates  "  women's  rights," 
ii.  249  note ;  the  Carlyles'  intercourse 
with,  ii.  253,  254;  Carlyle's  friend- 
ship with,  and  description  of,  ii.  256, 
258 ;  his  modesty,  ii.  256 ;  his  family 
and  household,  ii.  256 ;  his  theory 
of  life,  ii.  258 ;  characterized,  ii.  259. 

Inglis,  Henry,  on  Irving's  preaching, 
ii.  17 ;  visits  Carlyle  at  Craigenput- 
tock,  ii.  28,  192;  his  enthusiastic 
opinion  of  "  Sartor  Resartus,"  ii.  197 ; 
on  blockheads,  ii.  216  note. 

Inspiration,  ii.  50. 

Irving,  Edward,  i.  7, 10 ;  his  early  ca- 
reer, i.  22 ;  manages  school  at  Had- 
dington,  i.  22 ;  becomes  tutor  to  Miss 
Jane  B.  Welsh,  i.  22 ;  removes  to 
Kirkcaldy,  i.  22  ;  first  meeting  and 
intimacy  with  Carlyle,  i.  22,  23 ; 
disagrees  with  Kirkcaldy  folk,  i.  31 ; 
accused  of  severity  to  pupils,  i.  30 
note;  resigns  schoolmastership, i. 31; 
letter  to  Carlyle,  i.  39 ;  appointed  as- 
sistant to  Dr.  Chalmers,  i.  40 ;  his  ad- 
vice to  Carlyle,  i.  42,  51;  at  Annan, 
i.  51 ;  invites  Carlyle  to  Glasgow,  i. 
55 ;  consolatory  letters  to  Carlyle,  i. 
56, 57 ;  becomes  tutor  to  Miss  Welsh, 
i.  69;  his  engagement  to  Miss  Mar- 
tin,  and  his  wish  for  release,  i.  73 ; 


his  love  for  Miss  Welsh,  i.  73 ;  his 
misgivings  as  to  her  German  studies, 
i.  77 ;  his  uneasiness  at  Glasgow,  i. 
80;  accepts  invitation  to  preach  in 
Hatton  Garden  Chapel,  i.  81 ;  his 
success  in  preaching,  i.81 ;  introduc- 
tion to  Mrs.  Buller,  i.  81 ;  he  recom- 
mends Carlyle  as  tutor  to  her  sons, 
i.  81 ;  his  opinion  of  Charles  Buller, 
i.  81,  82;  his  appointment  to  Hatton 
Garden  Chapel,  i.  87 ;  letters  to  Miss 
Welsh,  i.  88, 90 ;  his  great  popularity 
in  London,  i.  89  ;  mental  struggles, 
i.  92;  his  marriage,  i.  92;  change;  in 
character,  i.  93 ;  Carlyle  on  his  Lon- 
don career  and  on  his  book  on  Last 
Judgment,  i.  108,  109;  contrast  of 
his  lot  with  Carlyle's,  i.  109 ;  the 
theological  lion  of  the  age,  i.  109 ; 
hollowness  of  his  success,  i.  109 ;  his 
wedding  tour,  i.  109 ;  letter  to  Miss 
Welsh,  i.  109  ;  his  expectations  for 
Carlyle,  i.  120;  with  Carlyle  in  Lon- 
don, i.  126,  138 ;  birth  of  his  son,  i. 
135  ;  at  Dover,  i.  139 ;  his  parental 
affection,  i.  142 ;  humorous  sketches 
of,  by  Carlyle,  i.  141-149;  ceases  to 
be  lionized,  i.  150;  his  followers,  i. 
152;  takes  to  interpretation  of  proph- 
ecy, i.  172 ;  his  singularity,  i.  189 ; 
at  Annan,  i.  190  ;  visit  from  Carlyle, 
i.  190 ;  his  influence  on  Carlyle's 
style,  i.  231 ;  urges  Carlyle  to  apply 
for  a  London  professorship,  i.  239 ; 
his  voluminous  testimonial  to  Car- 
lyle for  a  St.  Andrew's  professorship, 
i.  244;  at  Edinburgh,  ii.  17;  fatality 
at  Kirkcaldy  when  preaching,  ii.  22; 
Carlyle's  reflections  on,  ii.  70;  on 
"  Sartor  Resartus,"  ii.  81 ;  visit  from 
Carlyle,  ii.  98  ;  continued  success 
among  fanatical  class,  it.  98 ;  on  the 
supernatural,  ii.  102;  on  miracles,  ii. 
1 16 ;  his  increased  extravagances,  ii. 
124;  a  "speaking  with  tongues" 
meeting  described  by  Carlyle,  ii.  124 ; 
the  newspapers  on,  ii.  125;  Carlyle's 
fears  for  him,  and  remonstrances,  ii. 
125 ;  visit  to  Carlyle,  and  advice 
from  him,  ii.  127,  129 ;  his  altered 
appearance,  ii.  141 ;  with  Carlyle  on 
his  father's  burial  day,  ii.  148;  in 


INDEX. 


293 


danger  of  ejectment,  ii.  153 ;  his 
"  Morning  Watch  "  characterized,  ii. 
153;  his  father's  death,  ii.  163,  174; 
summoned  before  Annan  Presbytery, 
ii.  163 ;  preaches  in  the  fields,  his 
precentor  in  a  tree,  ii.  163 ;  preaches 
in  bazaar  in  Gray's  Inn  Road,  ii.  174 ; 
his  adherents,  ii.  174 ;  at  Newman 
Street,  ii.  177 ;  his  papers  in  Eraser 
on  the  Tongues,  ii.  177 ;  his  speech 
at  the  Annan  Presbytery,  ii.  199, 201 ; 
his  letter  to  the  newspapers,  ii.  201 ; 
meets  Carlyle  in  London,  ii.  248;  his 
illness  and  avoidance  of  Carlyle,  ii. 
250 ;  long  conversation  with  him,  ii. 
252,  262,  263  ;  his  last  visit  to  the 
Carlyles,  ii.  271 ;  his  death  at  Glas- 
gow, ii.  271 ;  Carlyle's  letter  to  his 
mother  on  his  life  and  character,  ii. 
271 ;  Carlyle's  love  for,  ii.  272. 
Isaiah,  Prophecies  of,  their  modern 
value,  ii.  166. 

Jeffrey,  Francis  (afterwards  Lord  Jef- 
frey), Carlyle's  letter  of  introduction 
to,"i.  222,  228 ;  visit  from  Carlyle,  i. 
228,  230;  his  estimate  of  Carlyle,  i. 
2-29  ;  his  character,  i.  228,  229;  em- 
ploys Carlyle  on  Edinburgh  JReview, 
i.  229 ;  intimacy  with  Carlyle,  i.  237 ; 
his  testimonial  to  Carlyle  for  St.  An- 
drew's professorship,  i.  243 ;  his  so- 
briquet of  "  the  Duke,"  i.  244 ;  efforts 
to  be  of  use  to  Carlyle,  ii.  19 ;  alter- 
cation with  Carlyle  about  article  on 
Burns,  ii.  23, 25 ;  visits  him  at  Craig- 
enptittock,  ii.  24;  his  spiritual  creed, 
ii.  25,  32;  on  Carlyle's  mysticism,  ii. 
25 ;  New-year's  greeting  to  Carlyle, 
ii.  32 ;  charm  of  his  style,  ii.  32;  his 
wish  to  serve  Carlyle,  ii.  33 ;  ceases 
to  edit  Edinburgh  Revieic,  ii.  33;  of- 
fers annuity  to  Carlyle,  ii.  3(5,  47 ; 
becomes  Lord  -  advocate  and  M.I'., 
ii.  50 ;  his  second  visit  to  Craigen- 
puttock,  ii.  72;  his  social  qualities, 
ii.72;  his  kindness  to  Hazlitt,  ii.72; 
takes  charge  of  "  History  of  German 
Literature,"ii.72;  histalentanalyzed, 
ii.  73  ;  as  a  mimic,  ii.  73  ;  his  social 
qualities,  conversation,  and  popu- 
larity, ii.  74 ;  his  abhorrence  of  Radi- 


calism, ii.  77 ;  lectures  Carlyle,  ii.  77 ; 
political  speculations,  ii.  78;  a  Mal- 
thusian,  ii.  79 ;  removes  to  London, 
ii.  80;  assists  John  Carlyle,  ii.  86 ; 
correspondence  with  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii. 
87 ;  his  loan  to  Carlyle,  ii.  93 ;  in- 
troduces him  to  Murray  the  pub- 
lisher, ii.  90 ;  at  home  in  Jermyn 
Street,  ii.  98 ;  recommends  John  Car- 
lyle as  physician  to  Lady  Clare,  ii. 
104,  105  ;  his  criticism  of  "  Sartor 
Resartus,"  ii.  107 ;  on  the  cholera,  ii. 
135 ;  his  regard  for  Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii. 
155, 167 ;  a  candidate  for  Edinburgh 
membership,  ii.  163 ;  irritated  with 
Carlyle,  ii.  167 ;  dinner  to  him  at  Ed- 
inburgh, ii.  226 ;  to  be  made  a  judge, 
ii.  22G ;  his  opinion  of  Macaulay,  ii. 
226 ;  declines  to  recommend  Carlyle 
for  Astronomy  professorship,  ii.  228, 
230;  his  letter  to  Carlyle  charac- 
terized, ii.  228,  230 ;  vindication  of 
his  conduct,  ii.  229;  his  secretary  as 
an  astronomer,  ii.  232 ;  on  Carlyle's 
manner,  ii.  232  ;  acknowledges  sub- 
sequently his  error  in  his  judgment 
of  Carlyle,  ii.  234 ;  in  London,  ii.  251 ; 
Carlyle's  last  visit  to,  ii.  251. 

Jews,  sense  of  the  ridiculous  wanting 
in,  i.  65 ;  their  character  and  relig- 
ious conceptions,  ii.  8. 

Jewsbury,  Miss,  on  the  character  of 
Miss  Welsh,  i.  70 ;  on  life  at  Craigen- 
puttock,  ii.  244. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  Carlyle  visits  his  house 
in  Gough  Square,  ii.  134 ;  Carlyle's 
review  of  Croker's  Life  of,  for  Eraser, 
ii.  153 ;  the  article  warmly  received, 
ii.  155 ;  Mill's  delight  with  it,  ii.  159. 

Johnstone,  George,  ii.  94. 

Johnstone,  John,  teaches  Carlyle  Lat- 
in,  i.  5,  9,  10  ;  his  congregation, 
i.7. 

Kant,  his  philosophy,  i.  1 13 ;  his  "  Kritik 
der  rcincn  Vermin  ft,"  i.  210,  215; 
pamphlet  about,  ii.  H*. 

Kempis,  Thomas  h,  Carlyle  sends  fa- 
mous book  by,  to  his  mother,  ii.  190 ; 
his  opinion  of  it,  ii.  197. 

Kenny,  Mrs.,  ii.  199. 

Kew  Green,  Carlyle  removes  to,  with 


INDEX. 


Buller  family,  L 129 ;  his  description 

of,  i.  130. 

Kilbride,  Church  of,  ii.  182. 
King's  College,  London,  ii.  19, 20. 
Kinnaird  House,  Carlyle  there  with 

Buller  family,  i.  103." 
Kirkcaldy,  Carlyle  and  Irving  at,  i.  24 ; 

description  of,  i.  28 ;  fatal  accident 

at,  ii.  22. 
Kirkpatrick,  Miss,  i.  139 ;  visits  Paris 

with  Mr.  Stracbey  and  Carlyle,  i. 

141 ;  ii.  20. 
Knox,  John,  L  61, 62. 

Ladies'  maids  and  literature,  ii.  219. 

Lafayette  characterized,  ii.  217. 

Lamb,  Charles,  his  mot  about  Coleridge, 
i.  128 ;  Carlyle's  harsh  estimate  of, 
ii.  122;  his  irregular  habits,  ii.  122; 
the  tragedy  of  his  life,  ii.  122. 

Laplace,  i.  142, 144. 

Lardner,  Dr.,  proposes  to  publish  "  His- 
tory of  German  Literature,"  ii.  143. 

Last  Judgment,  Irving's  book  on,  i. 
108. 

Laughter,  varieties  of,  L  64. 

Legendre,  his  "  Elements  of  Geometry," 
i.  79 ;  translated  by  Carlyle,  i.  84 ; 
Carlyle  visits,  at  Paris,  i.  142,  144 ; 
ii.228. 

Leibnitz,  i.  218. 

Leslie,  Professor,  i.  15,  22;  Carlyle's 
mathematical  teacher,  i.  244;  his 
testimonial  for  St.  Andrew's  profess- 
orship, i.  244. 

Leyden,  John,  verses  on  Mrs.  Buller,  i. 
95  note. 

Libraries  and  jails,  ii.  164. 

"Literary  men,"  Carlyle's  contempt 
for,  ii.  108. 

Literature,  Old  English,  its  character- 
istics, i.  216. 

Liverpool,  T.  Carlyle  at,  ii.  94 ;  the  Car- 
lylcs  at,  ii.  154* 

Llandaff,  Bishop  of,  ii.  20. 

Lockhart,  becomes  editor  of  Quarterly 
Review,  \.  195,  237 ;  writes  a  Life  of 
Burns,  ii.  17;  as  editor  of  Quar- 
terly Kevieto,  ii.  11G;  introduced  to 
Carlyle,  ii.  136;  characterized,  ii. 
136, 153. 

London,  Carlyle's  first  visit  to,  i.  126 ; 


his  impressions  of  it  and  its  society, 
i.  126;  Carlyle's  second  journey  to, 
ii.  93 ;  his  arrival  at,  ii.  94;  men 
born  in,  ii.  261. 

London  Magazine,  i.  92 ;  his  "  Life  of 
Schiller"  published  in,  i.  112. 

London  University,  i.  238, 239, 248 ;  ii. 
20. 

Longmans,  "  German  Literary  His- 
tory" declined  by,  ii.  97;  "Sartor 
Itesartus  "  offered  to,  ii.  104. 

Louis  XVIII.,  i.  142. 

Luther,  his  practice  of  fasting,  ii.  43 ; 
his  character,  ii.  43 ;  Carlyle  con- 
templates Life  of,  ii.  57,  68  ;  Carlyle 
offers  article  on,  to  Napier,  ii.  Ill; 
but  declined  by  him,  ii.  114. 

Lytton  Bulwer,  E.,  solicits  interview 
with  Carlyle,  ii.  143  ;  presses  for  an 
article  on  Frederick  the  Great,  ii.  143. 

Macanlay,  T.  B.,  ii.  117;  character- 
ized, ii.  134;  his  paper  on  Horace 
Walpole,  ii.  218;  Carlyle's  opinion 
of,  ii.  218;  Jeffrey's  opinion  of,  ii. 
226. 

MacCrie,  Dr.,  198. 

Macculloch,  of  the  Scotsman,  i.  101 ; 
characterized,  ii.  273. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  Carlyle's  de- 
scription of,  ii.  119;  death  of,  ii.  165. 

"Miihrchen,"  Das,  translated  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  155 ;  revised,  ii.  162. 

Mali ih ill.  the  Carlyles  remove  to,  i.  20; 
family  life  there,  i.  25,  27 ;  T.  Car- 
lyle's life  and  work  at,  i.  123. 

Martin,  Rev.  Mr.,  i.  27. 

Martineau,  Miss,  ii.  251. 

Mendelssohn,  Moses,  i.  215 ;  his  "  Phse- 
don,"i.  217. 

Miles,  Miss  E.,Mrs.  Carlyle's  friendship 
for,  ii.  167 ;  offers  to  go  to  Scotland 
with  her,  ii.  168;  sketch  of,  by  Car- 
lyle, ii.  268;  a  follower  of  Irving,  ii. 
268 ;  her  marriage,  ii.  269 ;  sudden 
death  of  her  father,  ii.  270. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  ii.  110 ;  his  appearance,  ii. 
Ill;  his  conversation,  ii.  110,  116, 
127;  his  Catholicism  and  love  of 
truth,  ii.  137;  C.  Buller's  praise  of, 
ii.  137, 138 ;  his  sympathy  with  Car- 
lyle, ii.  159;  his  delight  with  article 


INDEX. 


295 


on  Johnson,  ii.  159,  165 ;  a  disciple 
of  Carlyle,  ii.  159;  cannot  admit 
Goethe's  greatness,  it.  159;  assists 
Carlyle  with  books,  etc.  ii.  190  ; 
characterized,  ii.  195;  disappointed 
with  Reform  Bill,  ii.  19C  ;  introduces 
Emerson  to  Carlyle,  ii.  208 ;  his  close 
correspondence  with  Carlyle,  ii.  211 ; 
his  views  on  Christianity,  ii.  211  ; 
"  tragical "  story  respecting,  ii.  250 ; 
Carlyle's  esteem  for,  ii.  '252 ;  offers  to 
print  "  Diamond  Necklace "  at  his 
o\vn  expense,  ii.  261 ;  his  reasonable- 
ness, ii.  2l»s. 

Miracles,  Carlyle  on,  ii.  2, 40. 

Mirth,  false,  ii'.  135. 

Moir,  George,  ii.  192-194. 

Molesworth,  Sir  \Vm.,  Carlyle's  esteem 
for,  ii.  252 ;  the  Radical  Review  and, 
ii.  252. 

Montagu,  Basil,  Carlyle's  estimate  of,  i. 
150. 

Montagu,  Mrs.  Basil,  i.  127;  her  so- 
briquet of  "the  noble  lady,"  i.  127 
note,  149;  ii.  96;  pecuniary  offer  to 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  ii.  102, 131 ;  her  friend- 
ship cools,  ii.  270. 

Moore,  Thomas,  characterized,  ii.  134. 

Morgarten,  verses  by  Carlyle  on  battle 
of,  i.  99. 

Morgue,  Carlyle  at  the,  i. 142. 

Muffins  in  London,  ii.  132. 

Murray,  John,  Carlyle  sends  "Sartor" 
to,  ii.  96,  100;  his  delay  respecting 
it,  ii.  100, 103 ;  his  offer  for  it,  ii.  Ill ; 
his  correspondence  with  Carlyle  re- 
specting it,  ii.  111. 

Murray,  Thomas,  Carlyle's  correspond- 
ence with,  i.  21. 

Museum,  British,  Carlyle  at,  ii.  261; 
impatience  with,  ii.  263. 

Napier,  Macvey,  appointed  editor  of 
FAixbunjh  Review,  ii.  33,90,  91,  104, 
111 ;  on  prevailing  literary  taste,  ii. 
114;  declines  article  on  Luther,  ii. 
114;  suggests  another  subject,  ii. 
114;  "Characteristics"  sent  to,  ii. 
142 ;  accepted  by,  ii.  143 ;  remiss  in 
payment  for  articles,  ii.  190,  193; 
characterized,  ii.  194,  200,  201 ;  Car- 
lyle dines  with,  ii.  201, 251. 


Narration,  art  of,  i.  218. 
Nelson,  Ben,  ii.  161, 1G5. 
Nettles,  Carlyle's  battle  with,  ii.  71 

note, 
New   Monthly   Magazine,  ii.   51 ;    its 

character,  ii.  142, 188. 
"  Nibelungen-Lied,"   essay   on,  ii.  68 

note. 

Nicknames,  ii.  50. 
Nicol,  Dr.,  principal   of  St.  Andrew's 

University,  i.  243 ;  his  character  and 

influence,  i.  244. 
Nigger  question,  the,  ii.  80. 
"••  Noble  lady,"  the  (Mrs.  Montagu),  ii. 

130, 176.     See  Montagu,  Mrs. 
"  Noctes  Ambrosianje,"  ii.  143. 
North,  Christopher,  see  Wilson,  John. 
Novalis,  his  "Schriften,"  ii.  43;    his 

character,  ii.  44 ;  on  religion,  ii.  46 ; 

quoted,  ii.  50, 148. 
Novel,  Carlyle  commences  a,  i.  215, 

221;  failure  of,  i.  225. 
"  Novelle  "  translated   by  Carlyle,  ii. 

162. 

O'Connell,  Daniel,  ii.  100;  a  real 
demagogue,  ii.  135 ;  his  "  cunning," 
ii.  135. 

Optics,  spiritual,  ii.  5. 

Orr,  John,  i.  3. 

Oxford,  i.  137. 

Palais  Royal,  Carlyle  at  the,  i.  144. 

Paley,  his""  Hor.-c  Paulinae,"  i.  103,  218. 

Paris,  trip  to,  decided  on,  i.  142 ;  jour- 
ney thither,  i.  142 ;  Carlyle's  impres- 
sions of,  i.  142. 

Phaeton  a  "  gigman,"  ii.  165. 

Poetry,  ultimate  object  of,  i.  216 ;  Car- 
lyle's doubtful  love  of,  ii.  46. 

Pole,  Reginald  and  Anna,  i.  107. 

Politeness,  ii.  50. 

Political  economy,  estimate  of,  i.  218 ; 
Carlyle  on,  ii.  48. 

Political  life,  courtesies  of,  i.  218. 

Pope,  his  "  Homer's  Odyssey,"  ii.  56. 

Prayer,  Carlyle  on,  ii.  13. 

Precentor,  Irving's.  in  a  tree,  ii.  163. 

Procter.  Bryan  \V.  (Barry  Cornwall), 
Carlyle's  estimate  of,  i.  127,  153 ; 
characterized,  ii.  153, 177. 

Property,  ii.  53. 


296 


INDEX. 


Prophetesses,  ii.  124 
Puttock,  i.  61  note. 

Quacks,  ii.  45. 

Quarterly  Review,  Southey's  article  in, 
ii.  116. 

Quincey  (De),  Thomas,  reviews  Car- 
lyle's  "  Meister  "  unfavorably,  i.  133 ; 
his  career,  i.  153, 219 ;  his  opinion  of 
Rfchter  and  Goethe,  i.  231;  de- 
scribed by  Carlyle,  i.  242,  249 ;  his 
ill-fortune,  ii.  200. 

Eadical  disturbances  at  Glasgow,  i. 
41. 

Radical  Review,  a  new,  instituted  by 
Mill,  Duller,  and  others,  ii.  239,  257 ; 
Carlyle  agrees  to  contribute  to,  ii. 
239 ;  Sir  W.Molesworth  and,  ii.  252 ; 
Carlyle  hopes  for  editorship  of,  ii. 
254 ;  W.  J.  Fox  appointed  editor  of, 
ii.  239,  260;  its  fate,  ii.  261. 

Radicalism,  Carlyle  and,  ii.  268. 

Radicals,  Carlyle  on,  ii.  239 ;  meeting 
of,  ii.  269. 

Raleigh,  Sir  W.,  i.  215;  his  "Advice 
to  his  Son,"  i.  216. 

Reeve,  Henry,  ii.  189. 

Reform,  agitation  for,  ii.  71 ;  the  ques- 
tion of,  ii.  55,76. 

Reform  Bill,  the,  thrown  out,  ii.  119. 

"  Reineke  Fuchs,"  ii.  81 ;  fts  influence 
on  Carlyle,  ii.  217. 

Religion,  Carlyle's,  ii.  1 ;  Jewish,  ii.  8 ; 
ancient  conceptions  of,  ii.  10. 

"  Reminiscences,"  i.  28, 41, 51, 64, 66, 73, 
84, 126, 127, 139, 143 ;  quoted,  i.  174, 
191,230,250;  memoir  of  James  Car- 
lyle in,  ii.  144. 

Rennie,  George,  the  sculptor,  a  friend 
of  the  Carlyles,  ii.  2G8. 

Rhetoric,  a  chair  of,  Jeffrey  hesitates 
to  recommend  Carlyle  for,  ii.  233, 
236. 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  Carlyle's  essay  on, 
i.  230, 236,  237 ;  De  Quincey's  opin- 
ion of,  i.  231 ;  quoted,  ii.  44. 

Ridiculous,  sense  of  the,  definition  of, 
i.  65  ;  not  possessed  by  Jews,  i.  65 ; 
Carlyle's,  ii.  261. 

Robinson,  Crabb,  i.  248. 

Roebuck,  J.  A.,  his  oratory,  ii.  269. 


Rogers,  Samuel,  characterized,  ii.  134. 
Romilly,  Sir  John,  ii.  147. 
"  Rotten-hearted  Lords,"  ii.  138. 
Ruskin,  J.,  his  saying  respecting  Car- 
lyle, ii.  277. 
Russell,  Dr.,  of  Thornhill,  ii.  182. 

Saint-Simonianism,  failure  of,  ii.  103. 

Saint-Simonians,  letter  from,  ii.  47 ; 
Goethe  cautions  Carlyle  as  to,  ii.  79 ; 
article  in  Quarterly  on,  ii.  116 ;  Mrs. 
Carlyle  and,  ii.  131 ;  they  give  lect- 
ures in  London,  ii.  222. 

"  Sartor  Resartus,"  i.  8-10 ;  not  histor- 
ical, i.  15;  extract  from,  i.  15, 32,  58 ; 
passage  from,  i.  58;  growth  of,  ii. 
74 ;  defective  as  a  work  of  art,  ii.  75 ; 
anti-Malthusian,  ii.  79;  quoted,  ii. 
79 ;  Irving  on,  ii.  81 ;  Carlyle  at 
work  on,  ii.  90;  completed,  ii.  92; 
Mrs.  Carlyle's  opinion  of,  ii.  93 ;  sent 
to  John  Murray,  ii.  96 ;  declined  by 
him,  ii.  103 ;  offer  from  Fraser  re- 
specting, ii.  103  ;  offered  to  Long- 
mans, ii.  104 ;  Jeffrey's  criticism  of, 
ii.  108;  declined  by  Longmans,  ii. 
108  note ;  subsequent  offer  by  Mur- 
ray for,  ii.  Ill ;  refused  by  Colburn 
and  Bentley,  ii.  Ill ;  correspondence 
with  Murray  respecting,  ii.  112-114 ; 
finally  declined  by  him,  ii.  113 ;  crit- 
ical opinion  on,  ii.  113 ;  published 
piecemeal  in  Fraser's  Magazine,  ii. 
203;  its  unfavorable  reception,  ii. 
212,  227,  236,  239,  250,  251 ;  appre- 
ciated in  America,  ii.  251. 

Scaliger,  i.  215. 

Schelling,i.215,  248. 

Schiller,  character  and  writings  of,  i. 
75;  his  influence  on  Carlyle,  i.  75; 
contrasted  with  Goethe,  i.  76 ;  Car- 
lyle's Life  of,  begun,  i.  100,  112; 
Carlyle's  judgment  of  his  own  work, 
i.  147 ;  Goethe's  opinion  of  it,  i.  147, 
232. 

Schlegel,  F.,  i.  113,  217;  death  of,  ii. 
43. 

Scotland,  social  state  of,  i.  36;  aristoc- 
racy of,  ii.  42,  51 ;  character  of  peo- 
ple of,  ii.  42;  Scott's  History  of,  ii. 
50. 

Scotsbrig,the  Carlyles  remove  to,  i.  191. 


INDEX. 


297 


Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  works  character- 
ized,  i.  21(5 ;  Goethe  sends  medals  to, 
i.  '252;  Carlyle's  letter  to,  not  an- 
swered, i.  252 ;  receives  medals  from 
Goethe,  ii.  17,  19;  his  "History  of 
Scotland,"  ii.  50;  his  journey  to 
Naples,  ii.  121;  his  failing  health, 
ii.  121;  struck  with  apoplexy,  ii. 
174;  death  of,  ii.  181 ;  characterized, 
ii.  181. 

Self-denial,  ii.  179. 

Seneca,  ii.  180. 

Shaftesbury,  i.  215. 

Shakespeare,  and  Stratfonl-on-Avon,  i. 
137 ;  compared  with  Homer,  ii.  56 ; 
poetry  his  religion,  ii.  121. 

Sharpe,  General,  i.  173;  his  differences 
with  Carlyle,  i.  191, 192  note. 

Sickingen,  Franz  von,  ii.  50. 

"  Sigh,  The,"  Carlyle's  poem,  ii.  246. 

"  Signs  of  the  Times,"  in  Edinburgh 
Review,  ii.  34, 44, 48. 

Silence,  ii.  52 ;  a  talent  for,  ii.  98 ;  the 
nobleness  of,  ii.  133. 

Smail,  Betty,  ii.85. 

Smail,  Tom",  i.  13. 

Socrates  compared  with  Christ,  ii.  217. 

"  Sorrows  of  Werter,"  The,  ii.  51. 

Southoy  on  the  Saint-Simonians,  ii. 
11G. 

Sports,  popular,  on,  ii.  132. 

Stae'I,  Mine,  de,  article  on,  ii.  58. 

Stock  Exchange,  Carlyle  .on,  ii.  265, 
266  note. 

Strachey,  Mr.,  accompanies  Carlyle  to 
Paris,  i.  142 ;  his  imperfect  French, 
L  143;  death  of,  ii.  143. 

Strachey,  Mrs.,  i.  81,  127,  132;  con- 
trasted with  Mrs.  Buller,  her  sister, 
i.  135;  ii.  20,  98,  115;  her  anxiety 
respecting  Charles  Buller,  ii.  125, 
126 ;  character  of,  ii.  253. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  i.  136. 

Streets,  on  names  of,  ii.  163. 

Style,  Carlyle's,  where  learned,  ii.  144. 

Swan,  Mr.,  i.  27,  51,  56 ;  provost  of 
Kirkcaldy,  ii.  213  note. 

Tait,  the  bookseller,  i.  53. 
Talma,  i.  142, 144. 

Taylor,  William,  his  "  Historical  Sur- 
vey of  German  Poetry,"  ii.  54, 55, 87. 


Taylor,  Mrs.,  a  friend  of  the  Carlyles, 
ii.  257  ;  characterized,  ii.  257,  262 ; 
her  dinner-party,  ii.  262;  her  hus- 
band, ii.  262,  272. 

Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  ii.  126, 127. 

Templand,  i.  64. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  i.  215. 

"  Terar  dum  prosim,"  the  motto,  i.  113, 
183. 

"  Teufelsdrockh,"  ii.  54;  the  first 
sketch  of"  Sartor  Resartus  "  refused 
by  magazine  editors,  ii.  57. 

Thiers,  Carlyle's  criticism  on,  ii.  190 
note. 

Thought,  thinking  and,  ii.  133. 

Tieck,  quoted,  i.  215,  216. 

Times  and  "  Life  of  Schiller,"  i.  116. 

Titles,  their  derivation,  ii.  55. 

Toleration,  ii.  179  and  note. 

Tongues,  gift  of,  ii.  124,  128 ;  Irving'a 
papers  on,  in  Fraser's  Magazine,  ii. 
177. 

Tories,  the  moderate,  ii.  52. 

Tower  of  Repentance,  i.  173. 

"  Tristram  Shandy,"  i.  231. 

Truth,  rarity  of,  ii".  122. 

Unitarians,  Carlyle's  estimate  of,  ii. 
135. 

University  life  in  Scotland,  i.  12,  48. 

Utilitarianism,  Charles  Buller'a  advo- 
cacy of,  ii.  20. 

Verse,  quality  of  Carlyle's,  ii.  216  note. 
Virtue,  no  theory  of,  ii.  218. 
Voltaire,  his  philosophy,  i.  217;  essay 
on,  ii.  30. 

Washington,  George,  his  character,  ii. 
217. 

Waste  lands,  improvement  of,  ii.  44. 

Water  of  Milk,  ii.  172,  174. 

Waugh,  Dr.,  of  Annan,  a  friend  of 
Carlyle  and  Irving,  ii.  221 ;  his  des- 
titute condition  relieved  by  Carlyle, 
ii.  221 ;  his  book,  ii.  221,  223. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  Parliament  and, 
ii.  164 ;  unpopularity  of,  as  a  politi- 
cian, ii.  164,  172;  characterized,  ii. 
164. 

Welsh,  Jane  Baillie  (afterwards  wife 
of  T.  Carlyle),  i.  22 ;  her  ancestry, 


INDEX. 


i.  61,  62;  John  Knox,  i.  62;  her 
grandfather,  John  Welsh,  i.  63;  her 
lather's  early  career,  i.  63 ;  her  moth- 
er descended  from  Wallace,  i.  63- 
66 ;  her  uncle,  John  Welsh,  of  Liv- 
erpool, i.  65 ;  her  mother  described 
by  Carlyle,  i.  65 ;  death  of  her  fa- 
ther, i.  65;  Carlyle  on  her  father's 
character,  i.  66;  attachment  to  her 
father,  i.  66 ;  her  early  years,  i.  66 ; 
personal  attractions,  i.  66;  anec- 
dotes of  her  childhood,  i.  67; 
learns  Latin,  i.  68 ;  punishes  an  im- 
pertinent lad,  i.  68;  Edward  Irving 
becomes  her  private  tutor,  i.  69 ; 
her  zeal  in  study,  i.  69 ;  reads  Vir- 
gil, i.  69 ;  its  effect  on  her  mind,  i. 
69;  the  doll's  funeral  pyre,  i.  69; 
writes  a  tragedy  at  age  of  fourteen, 
i.  70;  her  gift  of  verse-making,  i. 


lyle,  i.  187 ;  selects  a  house  at  Come- 
ly Bank,  i.  193;  her  "enumeration 
of  her  wooers,"  i.  197;  her  estimate 
of  Carlyle,  i.  206,  207 ;  letter  to  her 
aunt,  i.  207 ;  good  resolutions,  i. 
209  ;  "  last  marrying  words,"  i.  212 ; 
her  marriage  with  Carlyle,  i.  212. 
See  Carlyle,  Jane  Welsh. 

Welsh,  Dr.,  of  Haddington,  Carlylc's 
description  of,  i.  66 ;  his  death,  i.  66 ; 
anecdote  of,  i.  66. 

Welsh,  John,  of  Liverpool,  ii.  94, 95. 

Welsh,  Walter,  of  Templand  (  grand- 
father of  Jane  Welsh),  Carlyle's 
opinion  of  him,  i.  64 ;  his  laughter, 
i.  64 ;  his  son  John's  bankruptcy, 
subsequent  success,  and  repayment 
of  his  creditors,  at  Liverpool,  i.  65 ; 
anecdote  of,  i.  67. 

Werner,  i.  215,  217. 


70 ;  her  love  for  her  father,  i.  70 ;  j  Werter,  ii.  51. 
accompanies  her  father  on  his  last  |  Westminster  Revieic,  ii.  55. 
journey,  i.  70,  71 ;   her  father's  last  i  Wetherell,  Recorder  of  Bristol,  ii.  100, 
illness,  L  71;  her  first  extant  letter,  |      129. 


i.  71 ;  inherits  her  father's  property, 
i.  72 ;  her  many  suitors,  i.  72  ;  called 
the  "  flower  of  Haddington,"  i.  72 ; 
her  warm  attachment  to  Irving,  i. 
73 ;  her  introduction  to  Carlyle.  i. 
73 ;  corresponds  with  him,  i.  74 ; 
Irving's  misgivings  as  to  her  Ger- 
man studies,  i.  76;  literary  corre- 
spondence with  Carlyle,  i.  86;  let- 
ters from  Irving,  L  88,  89 ;  professes 
sisterly  love  for  Carlyle,  i.  104 ; 
makes  a  will  leaving  her  property  to 
him,  i.  105 ;  quarrel  and  reconcilia- 
tion with  him,  i.  120;  her  estimate 
of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  i.  122  ;  on 
death  of  Byron,  i.  124 ;  correspond- 
ence with  Carlyle,  i.  151-154,  156- 
169;  nature  of  her  regard  for  Car- 
lyle, i.  167 ;  letters  from  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu, i.  176,  177 ;  confesses  her  pre- 
vious attachment  to  Irving,  i.  178  ; 
visits  Carlyle  at  Hoddam,  i.  179 ; 
and  his  father  at  Mainhill,  i.  181 ; 
her  mother's  displeasure  at  her  pro- 
posed marriage,  i.  182;  letter  to 
Carlyle's  mother,  i.  185;  at  Had- 
dington, i.  186 ;  letter  to  Jean  Car- 


Whig  Ministry,  ii.  83. 

Whigs,  the,  ii.  52,  83. 

Wightman  the  hedger,  i.  205,  213. 

"Wilhelm  Meister,"  Carlyle's  opinion 
of,  i.  76 ;  begins  translation  of,  1, 100, 
103;  arrangements  with  publisher 
respecting,  i.  105, 122 ;  Miss  Welsh's 
opinion  of,  i.  122;  Carlyle  on,  i. 
122;  its  reception  at  Mainhill,  i. 
129 ;  Mrs.  Strachey's  opinion  of,  i. 
148 ;  read  by  Mr.  Welsh,  of  Temp- 
land,  i.  209 ;  "ii.  97  note. 

Wilson,  Professor,  i.  219;  Carlyle's  de- 
scription of,  i.  231,  242  ;  his  testimo- 
nial to  Carlyle,  i.  244;  his  charac- 
ter, L  249;  Goethe  and,  ii.  143, 192- 
197 ;  Carlyle's  estimate  of,  ii.  203. 

Winckelmann,  ii.  217,  224. 

Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  Life  of,  by  God- 
win, ii.  119. 

Women's  rights,  ii.  249  note. 

Wonder,  the  basis  of  worship,  ii. 
49. 

Wordsworth,  characterized,  ii.  198. 

Yeomanry,  Lothian,  called  out,  i.  41. 
York,  Duke  of,  i.  81. 


CARLYLE'S  REMINISCENCES. 


REMINISCENCES  BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  Edited  by 
J.  A.  FROUDE.  With  Copious  Index.  4 to,  Paper,  20  cents; 
12mo,  Cloth,  with  Thirteen  Portraits,  50  cents. 

These  papers  do  in  fact  throw  a  great  deal  of  light  on  Carlyle's  life  and  charac- 
ter, and  they  will  be  read  with  eagerness.  *  *  *  Few  of  his  most  finished  and  ele- 
gant compositions  vibrate  with  such  intense  and  characteristic  energy  of  emotion 
and  conviction  as  marks  these  pages. — Jf.  Y.  Sun. 

The  "Reminiscences"  consist  of  sketches,  and  they  give  us  an  insight  into  the 
man's  labors  and  domesticity  such  as  the  world  has  rarely  enjoyed  respecting  any 
literary  man.  *  *  *  This  work  is  one  of  the  notable  events  in  literary  history.  It 
will  instruct  and  delight  the  studious  reader. — Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

They  display  Carlyle's  remarkable  power  of  depicting  character  by  a  few  rapid 
stroke?,  ami  they  are  full  of  interesting  information  as  to  the  circumstances  of  his 
own  life.  *  *  *  There  are  occasional  outbursts  of  pathetic  sentiment  which  it  would 
be  difficult  tomtitch  in  English  literature. — St.  James's  Gazette,  London. 

To  lovers  and  students  of  Carlyle  these  "Reminiscences  "Sire  of  the  first  value. 
In  the  form  of  sketches  of  James  Carlyle,  Edward  Irving,  Jeffrey,  and  Jane  Welsh 
Carlyle — his  father ;  his  friend  ;  his  literary  patron  ;  his  wife,  consoler,  and  guar- 
dian angel — we  have,  in  fact,  a  most  vivid  autobiography.  We  see  Carlyle  strug- 
gling with  poverty,  with  scepticism,  with  the  "mud-gods,"  with  unpopularity, 
with  dyspepsia,  until  he  triumphed  over  all  except  the  last.  *  *  *  As  for  style,  this 
work  gives  Carlyle  at  his  best. — Academy,  London. 

The  graphic  power  of  the  book  is  as  remarkable  as  in  any  of  Carlyle's  most 
famous  works. — Athenceum,  London. 

There  can  be  no  donbt  of  its  permanent  vitality. — Spectator,  London. 

If  to  unveil  the  inner  life  of  a  man  truly  great  hitherto  little  known  except 
through  his  books  ;  to  paint  vivid  pictures  of  that  man's  family  and  associates- 
many  of  them  great ;  to  tell  the  brave  struggle  which  he  held  with  poverty  and 
obscurity  up  and  on  to  fame ;  to  set  down  in  the  bold  capitals  of  genius  the  very 
face,  gait,  and  action  of  his  times  as  they  touched  him  in  the  realm  where  he  be- 
longed—if  this  be  a  real  value  to  the  world,  then  Carlyle's  "Reminiscences"  have 
much  worth. — Literary  World,  Boston. 

Reading  these  interesting  posthumous  papers  of  a  great  thinker,  is  almost  like 
reading  In  Memoriam  rolled  out  in  sinewy  prose,  its  fine  cadences  roughened  and 
set  to  the  wailing  music  of  the  lond  Highland  winter  blast,  but  softened  here 
and  there,  and  made  sadly  harmonious,  by  a  deep  human  sorrow  breathed  as 
through  the  very  flutes  of  Arcady.— Hartford  Times. 

This  book  is  very  precious.  It  is  bright  with  the  significant  art  which  sharpens 
all  his  descriptions;  it  is  honest  as  the  utterances  of  his  own  soul  to  himself;  it 
is  such  a  work  as  a  man  can  write  but  once,  and  which  even  the  fullest  revelations 
of  personal  letters  can  hardly  equal  as  truthful  outpourings  of  the  heart.  *  *  *  The 
style  is  clear,  pure,  forcible  English  of  the  best  kind.  *  *  *  The  "Reminiscences" 
practically  cover  his  whole  life.  Hardly  a  notable  person  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact  is  unnoticed.  A  book  with  greater  variety  of  incidents  which  contribute  to 
the  unique  growth  of  a  single  life  has  hardly  ever  been  written. — Boston  Herald. 


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CONWAY'S  CARLYLE. 


THOMAS    CARLYLE.      By  M.  D.  CONWAY.      Illustrated. 
12rno,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

Mr.  Conway's  book  is  the  most  interesting  that  has  yet  been  called  forth  by 
the  death  of  Carlyle.  His  facilities  for  obtaining  a  just  impression  of  the  man, 
perhaps,  exceeded  those  of  any  one  else.  He  enjoyed  years  of  intimate  compan- 
ionship with  him  in  his  own  home,  and  the  character  of  his  mind  is  such  that  he 
is  intensely  appreciative  of  Carlyle'a  peculiar  genius.  The  book  is,  to  those  who 
admire  Carlyle,  like  a  conversation  with  a  mutual  friend  who  was  closely  asso- 
ciated with  a  departed  friend.  The  style  is  specially  easy  and  fluent,  and  the 
well-known  facts  acquire  a  new  significance  when  presented  in  this  attractive 
form. — Providence  Journal, 

A  thoroughly  valuable  and  entertaining  volume.  *  *  *  Mr.  Conway  writes  with 
an  intimate  personal  knowledge  of  his  subject.  *  *  *  We  believe  he  has  come 
nearer  to  the  real  nature,  aims,  and  life-work  of  the  author  of  "Sartor  Resartas" 
than  most  who  have  been  moved  by  Carlyle's  death  to  present  their  opinions  to 
the  world — Boston  fraveller. 

He  certainly  succeeds  in  presenting  the  tender  side  of  Carlyle's  nature,  while 
not  ignoring  its  rnggeduess.  He  lived  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  him,  ac- 
companied him  in  his  little  tonrs  sibout  the  country,  and  reports  his  conversations 
at  first  hand — Portland  Transcript. 

We  have  no  sort  of  donbt  that  the  final  judgment  of  Carlyle  will  settle  down 
somewhere  around  the  points  of  the  portrait  here  presented,  and  that  Mr.  Con- 
way's  appreciative  but  discriminating  estimate  may  be  takeu  as  a  safe  guide 
thereto.  We  have  seen  no  sketch  of  Carlyle  which  gives  a  more  nearly  complete 
and  well-balanced  idea  of  the  man,  as  a  man,  and  his  place  in  the  intellectual  life 
of  his  time.— Congregationalist,  Boston. 

Mr.  Conway  enjoyed  exceptional  opportunities  for  knowing  Carlyle,  and  he  has 
made  an  exceptionally  pleasant  and  interesting  book. — Boston  Journal. 

An  admirable  sketch,  written  in  a  sympathetic  spirit,  and  containing  many  in- 
teresting notes  of  the  author's  intercourse  with  Carlyle.  It  ought  to  do  good 
service  by  correcting  the  one-sided  impression  which  has  been  produced  by  the 
"Reminiscences." — St.  James's  Gazette,  London. 

We  have  here  no  mere  compilation,  but  the  recollections  of  one  who  loved  Car- 
lyle, and  has  power  to  unveil  some  part  of  the  lovable  nature  that  was  iu  the 
man.  The  glimpses  of  the  home  at  Chelsea  given  here  are  more  vivid  and  life- 
like than  anything  else  that  has  been  published  iu  that  kind. — Spectator,  London. 

Few  men  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  so  much  of  Thomas  Carlyle  in  the  close 
intimacy  of  private  talk  and  association  as  Mr.  Moucure  Conway.  *  *  *  The  wel- 
come result  is  the  transferring  to  paper  many  valuable  remarks  made  by  Carlyle 
iu  conversation,  and  the  putting  on  record  many  incidents  and  traits  that  were 
otherwise  doomed  to  oblivion. — Westminster  Review,  London. 

We  get  much  of  the  inner  thought  of  the  great  man  here,  with  pictures  of  his 
every-day  existence  that  are  truly  inspiring.  It  is  au  admirable  free-hand  sketch, 
and  is  likely  to  be  accepted  as  authentic  and  reliable. — Boston  Commonwealth. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NKW  YORK. 

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WYLIE'S    CARLYLE. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE.  The  Man  and  his  Books.  Illustrated 
by  Personal  Reminiscences,  Table-Talk,  and  Anecdotes  of 
Himself  and  his  Friends.  By  W.  H.  WYLIE.  4to,  Paper, 
20  cents. 

There  is  much  in  Mr.  Wylie's  volume  that  we  have  found  a  welcome  reminder 
of  what  was  best  iu  Carlyle. — Spectator,  London. 

Contains  a  really  graphic  account  of  Carlyle's  life  at  Craigenputtock  and  his 
correspondence  with  Goethe;  and  the  best  estimate  we  have  yet  seen  of  the  sig- 
nal historical  service  done  by  Carlyle  hi  rehabilitating  the  defaced  image  of  Crom- 
well.— Academy,  London. 

If  this  book  is  to  be  taken  as  an  example  of  the  kind  of  work  we  are  to  expect 
in  the  biographies  of  Carlyle,  Carlyle  will  have  been,  on  the  whole,  more  fortunate 
than  his  fellow  victims.  Mr.  Wylie's  book  is  really  a  thoughtful  and  remarkably 
accurate  performance. — Athenceum,  London. 

He  has  got  together  most  of  the  facts  of  Carlyle's  life,  and  has  exposed  them  in 
a  very  readable  piece  of  literary  work.  *  *  *  This  book  gives,  on  the  whole,  a  very 
fair  and  sufficient  account  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  life — Pall  Mall  Budget,  London. 

A  timely  volume  of  reminiscences,  table-talk,  and  anecdotes  of  the  sage  and 
his  friends.  It  is  a  very  interesting  sketch  of  Carlyle's  life  and  work. — Montreal 
Witness. 

A  valuable  contribution  to  literature. — Brooklyn  Times. 

A  remarkable  compilation  of  facts  concerning  Carlyle.  *  *  *  The  author  has  been 
indefatigable  iu  collecting  material,  and  not  a  fact  is  lost.  An  acquaintance  with 
Carlyle  gives  him  opportunity  to  put  in  numerous  little  aside?,  and  to  give  some 
conversations  as  they  fell  from  the  month  of  the  sage. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette, 
Boston. 

The  narrative  is  rendered  attractive,  as  well  as  instructive,  by  the  happy  min- 
gling of  personal  incident,  anecdote,  and  table-talk  with  the  ordinary  biographical 
data. — New  England  Methodist,  Boston. 

Contains  a  great  deal  of  personal  and  literary  information  regarding  Carlyle — 
Philadelphia  News. 

A  book  that  every  lover  of  Carlyle  should  obtain — Home  Farm,  Augusta,  Me. 

Will  be  read  with  much  interest — Portland  Press. 

A  most  interesting  book. — Brooklyn  Union  and  Arfiun. 

This  work  was  prepared  before  the  death  of  its  distinguished  subject,  and  not 
written  hastily  since  that  event.  It  abounds  in  personal  recollections,  and  is  per- 
haps the  best  description  of  the  famous  Scotchman  at  present  to  be  had.— Chris- 
tian Intelligencer,  N.  Y. 

A  Boswelliau  collection  from  Carlyle's  own  lips,  from  reports,  letters  of  his 
friends,  and  from  the  public  press,  of  the  incidents  of  his  life  and  his  notable 
words.  It  presents  the  rough,  self-willed,  extravagant,  powerful  man  in  a  grateful 
light. — Zion's  Herald,  Boston. 

An  admirable  study  of  a  man  who  made  his  impression  on  the  age.— Lutheran 
Observer,  Boston. 

A  very  entertaining.work. — Chicago  Journal. 


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CAROLINE  FOX'S  JOURNALS. 


MEMORIES  OF  OLD  FRIENDS  :  BEING  EXTRACTS  FROM 
THE  JOURNALS  AND  LETTERS  OF  CAROLINE  FOX, 
OF  PENJERRICK,  CORNWALL,  FROM  1835  TO  1871.  To 
which  are  added  Fourteen  Original  Letters  from  J.  S.  Mill,  never 
before  published.  Edited  by  HORACE  N.  PYM.  4to,  Paper,  30 
cents. 

Hardly  a  page  can  be  turned  without  meeting  a  name  that  Btill  retains  some 
importance;  and  though  at  times, of  course,  we  find  little  but  a  name, yet  even 
then  the  mention  is  not  devoid  of  interest,  and  in  some  cases  it  affords  views  of 
character  from  which  the  historian  of  onr  time  might  stop  to  gather  hints  for  the 
coloring  of  his  picture. — Spectator,  London. 

There  are  not  many  things  rarer  than  a  thoroughly  delightful  book,  but  Mr. 
Pym  must  have  the  credit  (sinoe  the  author  herself  is  past  receiving  it)  of  having 
provided  readers  of  to-day  with  this  rarity. — Athenaeum,  London. 

The  great  book  of  the  year. — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

A  life  spent  among  persons  whose  conversations  and  thoughts  were  for  the 
most  part  well  worth  recording;  while  certain  peculiarities  of  position,  and  an 
evident  power  of  personal  attraction — mainly  due,  as  it  would  seem,  to  delicate 
perceptions  and  to  a  sympathetic  and  inquiring  spirit,  together  with  a  lively  tem- 
per and  a  great  sense  of  fun  and  humor — gave  the  journalist  some  unusual  advan- 
tages.— Saturday  Review,  London. 

The  volume  has  been  produced  with  everything  in  its  favor  to  insure  it  a  wide 
popularity.  We  have  rarely  met  with  any  work  which  exercised  so  irresistible  a 
fascination  over  our  will.  It  has  been  well  edited. — Academy,  London. 

One  of  the  brightest,  most  interesting,  and  permanently  valuable  diaries  ever 
given  to  the  public.  *  *  *  We  have  read  110  book  of  the  kind  richer  in  material  for 
the  historian  and  biographer,  and  in  pictures  of  men  and  women  whom  the  world 
would  wish  to  know.  So  rich  was  her  environment  that  it  must  have  been  a  lib- 
eral education  to  have  lived  in  the  house.  The  Coleridges,  Hartley  and  Derwent, 
John  Stuart  Mill,  John  Sterling,  Sir  John  Bowring,  Dr.  Buckland,  Professor  Owen, 
James  Anthony  Fronde,  Carlyle  and  his  wife,  F.  D.  Maurice,  W.  E.  Forster,  Bishop 
Stanley,  Sir  Thomas  Fowell  Buxton,  Arthur  Helps,  Baron  Bunseu,  Dean  Stanley, 
Jenny  Lind,  Louis  Blanc,  Tennyson,  Thackeray,  Faraday,  Charles  Kingsley,  John 
Bright,  and  scores  of  others,  were  guests  of  her  father,  or  were  her  own  correspond- 
ents. They  appear  in  these  pages  with  an  interest  which  will  hold  the  reader  to 
the  end.  *  *  *  We  find  on  every  page  matter  of  weight  and  of  interest.  These 
"Memories  of  Old  Friends"  are  fascinating  beyond  the  ordinary  meaning  of  that 
word.  To  all  who  would  understand  the  literary  and  scientific  life  of  England 
from  1S35  to  1871  they  will  be  a  necessity. — Christian  Advocate,  N.  Y. 

Carlyle  pervades  the  entire  book,  and  a  large  number  of  his  opinions  on  every 
variety  of  subject  are  given.  *  *  *  A  mine  of  literary  anecdote  and  reminiscence, 
nearly  every  page  containing  some  quotable  extracts.*  *  *  Miss  Fox's  picture  of 
Carlyle  is  probably  more  truthful  than  many  of  the  more  elaborate  sketches 
which  have  been  recently  given  to  the  world. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


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EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY. 


The  following  volumes  are  now  ready: 

JOHNSON LESLIE  STEPHEN. 

GIBBON J.  C.  MOBISON. 

SCOTT R.  H.  HDTTON. 

SHELLEY J.  A.  SYMONI.S. 

HUME Professor  HUXLEY. 

GOLDSMITH WILLIAM  BLACK. 

DEFOE WILLIAM  MINTO. 

UrUNS Principal  SHAIKP. 

SPENSER. The  DEAN  OP  ST.  PAUL'S. 

THACKERAY ANTHONY  TEOM.OPK. 

HURKE JOHN  MOBLEY. 

MI LTON MARK  PATCTSON. 

SOUTHEY Professor  DOWT>EN. 

CHAUCER Professor  A.  W.  WARI.. 

lil'NYAN J.  A.  FEOUDB. 

CO  WPER. GOLI>WIN  SMITH. 

POPE LESLIE  STF.IMIF.N. 

BYRON JOHN  NIOIIOL. 

in  H'  K  K THOMAS  FOWLER. 

W(  )RDS\VOHTH F.  MYERS. 

D K VDKX G.  SAINTSBUBY. 

LANDOK Professor  SIDNEY  COLVIN. 

DE  QUINCEY Professor  D.  MASSON. 

LAMI? The  Rev.  ALFRED  AING.EB. 

BENTLEY Professor  JEBB. 

12mo,  Cloth,  T5  cents  per  volume. 


HAWTHORNE.    By  HKNEY  JAMKS,  Jr 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


VOLUMES  IN  PREPARATION: 

SWIFT JOHN  MOBI.KY. 

GRAY JOHN  MORLEY. 

ADAM  SMITH LEON  ABU  H.  COURTNEY. 

DICKENS Professor  A.W.  WABI>. 

Others  will  be  announced. 


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The  Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns.  Edited 
by  ROBERT  CHAMBERS.  4  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$6  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $13  00. 

Mr.  Chambers's  edition  is  the  completest  presentation  of  the  Scot- 
tish poet  in  existence.  The  various  compositions  are  here  strung  in 
strict  chronological  order  upon  the  Memoir,  that  they  may  render- up 
the  whole  light  which  they  are  qualified  to  throw  upon  the  history  of 
the  life  and  mental  progress  of  Burns,  while  a  new  significance  is 
given  to  them  by  their  being  read  in  connection  with  the  current  of 
events  and  emotions  which  led  to  their  production.  The  result  of 
this  plan  is  not  merely  a  great  amount  of  new  biographical  detail, 
but  a  new  sense,  efficacy,  and  feeling  in  the  writings  of  the  poet 
himself. 

All  that  remains  of*  Burns,  the  writings  he  has  left,  seem  to  us 
no  more  than  a  poor  mutilated  fraction  of  what  was  in  him ;  brief, 
broken  glimpses  of  a  genius  that  could  never  show  itself  complete ; 
that  wanted  all  things  for  completeness — culture,  leisure,  true  effort, 
nay,  even  length  of  life.  *  *  *  There  is  something  in  his  poems  which 
forbids  the  most  fastidious  student  of  poetry  to  pass  them  by.  *  *  * 
The  excellence  of  Burns  is,  indeed,  among  the  rarest,  whether  in 
poetry  or  prose ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  plain,  and  easily  recog- 
nized— his  indisputable  air  of  truth. — THOMAS  CARLTLE. 

Burns  is  by  far  the  greatest  poet  that  ever  sprung  from  the  bosom 
of  the  people,  and  lived  and  died  in  an  humble  condition.  He  was 
born  a  poet,  if  ever  man  was,  and  to  his  native  genius  alone  is  ow- 
ing the  perpetuity  of  his  fame.  *  *  *  Whatever  be  the  faults  or  the 
defects  of  the  poetry  of  Burns — and  no  doubt  it  has  many — it  has, 
beyond  all  that  was  ever  written,  this  greatest  of  all  merits,  intense, 
life-pervading,  and  life-breathing  truth. — Professor  WILSON  (Christo- 
pher North). 


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